Soul Thief
by Walter Sobchak
Summary: 5 Years after defeating Voldemort, a simple error of judgment leads to catastrophe for Harry Potter. Hermione has to battle to reclaim her dearest friend and Harry must uncover the conspiracy that threatens them all in order to save a once bitter enemy.
1. Prologue

**Some of you may recognise this story as it has previously been published on Portkey under the pen-name Barton Fink. Unfortunately (for me at least) the name Barton Fink has already been taken by a discerning user on this site. As a result I have had to use a new name - fans of the Coen Brothers will recognise that I have kept their theme with the name Walter Sobchak.**

**Prologue**

'So, it's tonight then?' asked Harry Potter as he regarded his friend before taking a large bite from his sandwich.

Ron Weasley nodded, taking a moment to swallow his own food before replying. 'Yeah. We go to see the Vicar tonight. Hermione's mum and dad are coming too. Apparently there are a few final arrangements to go over before next week. Blowed if I know what they are though; I've no idea how a Muggle wedding is supposed to go.' He leaned down and sucked up some soda up through a straw, making a loud slurping noise as he did so. Then he belched loudly. 'Not much clue as to how a Wizard wedding should go either, for that matter.'

Harry smiled at his friend knowing just how true Ron's observations were. For all his knowledge of the Wizarding world, Ron had the street smarts of a three year old with a blindfold on when it came to Muggles. Well, not all Muggles, he reasoned. There was one particular Muggleborn that Ronald Bilius Weasley knew quite a bit about, but that seemed to be enough for his red haired friend. He didn't even pretend to be interested in the minutiae of the Muggle world anymore, despite the best efforts of Hermione to educate him. He figured that was one battle his other best friend was destined to lose. _Probably the only one_, he reckoned.

'Don't worry about it Ron; I've not had any experience in that regard either, but one thing I do know; the groom doesn't have to do anything apart from turn up. Just make sure you get that part right, okay?' he asked with a smile.

Ron nodded. 'I have you to blame if I don't make it though; you are the Best Man, remember? Although sometimes I wonder why I bothered asking you; you are probably the only person I know that is more irresponsible than me.'

Harry laughed at this remark, glad to be enjoying some time with his friend. Although both Aurors, they did not work directly with each other and so tried to grab the chance to catch up over lunch whenever they got the time. Today was such a day and both were taking the opportunity to enjoy the fine weather by sitting outside the Muggle Café in London's financial district that they frequented. Harry had discovered it two years earlier on one of his many tours of the capital and it had become a favourite of the two men. This, at least, was one aspect of the Muggle world Ron did take an interest in – the food.

They both turned their heads as a very pretty blond woman of about their own age strolled by in an extremely short skirt. Yet another bonus of such fine weather, Harry thought. He turned to see that his friend was also having a good look at the woman; even to the extent of leaning over to look round Harry at her retreating back.

'Very nice,' he said. 'I do enjoy the hot weather.'

Harry smiled. 'You're getting married next week Ron – to my best friend, no less – so behave yourself.'

'I'm only looking,' replied Ron, somewhat defensively. 'Besides; I saw you check her out too and you are engaged to my sister. So don't be lecturing me!' They stood staring at one another in mock seriousness for a moment before bursting out laughing.

'Fair enough,' said Harry. 'C'mon,' he began, glancing at his watch. 'We'd better head back.

Finishing up, the two friends stood and left some cash on the table to settle their bill, before heading down an alley that was considered safe to Apparate from. They had only gotten about half way down when Harry felt a vibration in his pocket. Cursing, he fumbled in his pockets for a moment before finding his enchanted mirror that was standard issue to all Aurors these days. Kingsley had gotten the idea after hearing of the one Harry had received from Sirius all those years ago.

'Yes?' he asked as he glanced into the glass. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Dawlish on the other end. The man was a pain in the arse, but he was Harry's superior and had to be obeyed.

'Potter,' was the curt greeting. 'Where are you?'

'Not far from Canary Wharf,' replied Harry. 'We normally come here for lunch,' he added.

Good,' replied Dawlish, 'I was hoping that's where you would be. Listen carefully; we have received a tip-off from an anonymous source that the escapees have a hideout in the Docklands area. That's not too far from where you are now. They have probably set up wards and detection charms so it's best if we don't Apparate in. Get yourselves down there as quick as you can and observe until the main force arrives. DO NOT attempt to enter the building until the back-up gets there. Your job is just to observe; indeed, the only reason you are being asked to do this is because you are the nearest. It will take us some time to assemble a force, so do not attempt to gain entry until we get there. Understood?'

Harry nodded, deep in thought. It had only been a week ago, but the reverberations of yet another Azkaban breakout were still being felt throughout the magical world. Dolohov, Crabbe Snr and both of the Carrows had somehow managed to escape from the prison and the event had left everyone a bit jittery, particularly after several scaremongering articles in the Daily Prophet. Azkaban was supposed to be escape proof after what happened five years ago, but the Death Eaters had managed to find a way round the new security measures. Kingsley reckoned that they must have had help from outside but had no idea who might have done it – the Ministry thought that all of the Death Eaters had been rounded up.

Harry had been especially warned to be on his guard. Although Kingsley – and everyone else – did not think that they would try to attack him; instead believing that the quartet had already left the country. But Harry had learned a long time ago not to take such reasoning at face value. He would feel a lot better when he heard that they were back behind bars.

'Yes, sir,' Harry finally replied, a touch of anger in his voice. He wasn't a child anymore and was annoyed that Dawlish spoke to him as if he were. 'Do you have the address?' he asked.

Dawlish rhymed it off and Harry was glad to see Ron jot it down in his notebook. 'We're on our way,' he informed his superior before putting his mirror away and regarding his friend.

'Know where it is?' he asked.

'Sure do. C'mon; let's go.'

Less than five minutes later, Ron and Harry found themselves crouched behind a low wall examining the façade of a very old warehouse next to the docks. This part of the East End had not yet been grabbed by the property developers and as a result the whole area was full of derelict Victorian brick warehouses and silos. It was a perfect place for anyone wanting to remain hidden from the authorities.

'So what do you reckon?' asked Ron.

'I reckon we obey orders and keep watch until the cavalry arrive,' replied Harry. 'Anyway, the ground is too open; I don't think we could get closer without being seen by anyone in there.'

'If there is anyone in there,' said Ron. 'This place is dead; there is absolutely no sign of life. I reckon someone is at the wind up. It wouldn't be the first time that some smart arse decided to have a little fun at the expense of the Aurors.'

Harry nodded. That did make sense; one of the biggest pains they had to face was the crank call; too many people thought wasting Ministry time was the best game in town. And the place did seem deserted – in fact it looked as if no one had set foot near the warehouse for years. Despite this however, Harry could not escape the feeling that something was wrong. The whole set up didn't seem right.

'Look,' said Ron. 'Those old containers offer some cover; we could slip behind them and get closer.' He saw the doubt in Harry's eyes. 'We don't have to go in; but Dawlish didn't say how close we could get to observe, did he?'

Harry conceded the logic. If they could slip behind the containers unnoticed then they would be in a perfect position to cover the building. He nodded his agreement. 'C'mon then, but be careful.'

The two men slipped quietly from their concealment and crept around the back of one of the old shipping containers. Moving as quietly as they could, they finally managed to get within twenty yards of the door. Not a sound could be heard other than their own breathing.

'This is a waste of time,' said Ron, 'there's no one here. I'm going to try the door.'

'Don't, Ron,' said Harry. 'You heard Dawlish.'

'Dawlish is an old woman – he wouldn't have a clue what to do here. He's only ordered us not to enter because he wants all the glory for himself. I tell you, Harry, there's nobody here.'

Harry was not convinced. It did not look like the building was occupied, but the only way to verify that was to enter. It still didn't feel right though.

'I don't know, Ron. I still think we should wait.'

'Don't tell me you're turning into an old woman too,' said Ron, with a smile. 'Look; you keep me covered and I'll try the door. If I see or hear anything then I'll come straight back. Okay?'

Alarm bells were going off in Harry's head; every instinct was telling him that this was a bad idea. But it was a huge building and Ron would be in cover for most of the way. He nodded.

'Okay, but if you sense anything – and I mean anything – get your arse back here. Agreed?'

Ron smiled in reply. 'That's the spirit, Harry. We defeated Voldemort and these bastards before; what do we have to worry about here?'

Despite himself, Harry smiled too. 'Okay then; be careful. I'll cover you.'

Ron nodded once and slipped out from behind the container. He crept up towards the door before crouching down just below the glass window that was cut above the handle. He listened carefully but heard nothing. Very slowly he turned the handle and silently slid open the door, before thrusting his head through the opening. He glanced around for a few moments, his ears cocked to pick up any sound. Satisfied that the building was empty, he turned to his friend.

'It's clear,' he said, gesturing Harry to join him. 'The place is deserted.'

Harry smiled his own relief and moved to join his friend. He watched as Ron stood and took his first step into the deserted warehouse and opened his mouth to tell his friend to wait. It was precisely at that moment the world exploded around him.

Harry was blown backwards towards the containers, his eyes taking in the fireball that engulfed his friend completely. He had no time to take in anything else, however, as he cracked his head on landing. He lay dazed for a moment before struggling to his feet, but found it difficult to maintain his balance.

'RON!' he screamed, reeling like a drunkard and oblivious of the blood that poured from a deep gash in his head as he tried to fight his way against the flames. It was futile; the searing heat prevented him from getting anywhere near the spot where Ron had stood and it was with an overwhelming sense of grief and despair that Harry Potter finally succumbed to his own injuries and collapsed onto the ground. His last conscious thought was the appalling truth that his best friend was dead.

**Eleven Months Later**

Draco Malfoy woke with a loud groan. _Sweet Merlin_, he thought to himself. _What was I drinking last night?_ He couldn't remember – in fact, he found that he couldn't remember anything and he found this slightly disconcerting. It was not unknown for him to drink heavily, but he at least usually remembered what he had been doing. He managed to turn himself over and became immediately aware of a presence in the bed next to him. _It couldn't have been all bad then_, he reasoned as he realised that it was the form of a young woman that lay in bed next to him.

He struggled into a sitting position and leaned over to see who it was that shared his bed.

_Chang? Cho Chang? What the fuck…?_

Totally perplexed as to why this woman was in his bed, Draco sat back as he tried to remember the events of the previous night.

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What the fuck was going on?_

He pulled the bedcovers off of himself and staggered to his feet. It was at that instant that he realised that something was very, very wrong.

_Blood__. _

Blood everywhere. On his hands; on his legs. He was drenched in it; saturated in gore.

Turning back to the bed, his mind racing, he grabbed the sheets and whipped them off; uncovering the woman lying still on the mattress.

_Oh my God…_

Cho Chang lay dead. Her guts had literally been ripped from her and the sheets were a mass of blood; only her face was unmarked by the gore. Draco staggered backwards, seemingly unable to comprehend what was going on. _Why can't I remember?_

It was at that moment that a loud hammering could be heard on the door of his apartment. He reeled at the noise, his mind unable to process what was going on.

'Open up! Ministry Aurors! Open the door!'

Draco sank to the floor. _Aurors! How did they…?_

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as the door crashed open and six burly Aurors burst into the room. The leader took one look at the bloodied mass on the bed.

'Draco Malfoy? I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. Anything you say can be taken…'

Draco never heard the rest; never took in what was going on. His mind was screaming at him to remember as he stared at the corpse on the bed before one of the Aurors threw a sheet over it in order to restore some dignity to the deceased. Draco was vaguely aware of being bound; of having a robe thrown over him before he was led from the room. None of this really registered however. He could not seem to get one urgent thought from his head.

_Why can't I remember?_

Hermione Granger opened the door to her apartment, hung up her jacket, kicked off her shoes and sighed. It had been another long day at the office and she was grateful for it; the long days at least allowed her some sleep at night, something she had been having trouble with for a while now. Dropping her handbag onto the floor, she walked into her living room and smiled as she received her usual welcome.

'Hi, Crookshanks,' she said as her faithful pet trotted over to rub herself against the legs of her mistress. Hermione leant down to stroke the cat. 'Good to see you too.'

She collapsed into the sofa and leaned back, rubbing her temples with both hands as she did so. She vaguely considered the fact that she was working too hard; that she was in danger of burning out, but she was acutely aware that she needed to drive herself this way. It was only when she concentrated on her work that she was able to forget just how much her life had collapsed in the past year.

She worked for the Department for Magical Creatures (DMC); a department set up by Minister Shacklebolt to improve the rights and freedoms of the non-human element of the Wizarding world. The department had been set up not long after Voldemort had been defeated and she had been honoured to have been approached by Kingsley with a request to join the team. It was not long before she headed the department; despite her youth it had been obvious from the beginning that the representatives of the respective magical creatures preferred to deal with her rather than anyone else. She took it as a complement that she was recognised in this way; this was something she had earned herself, not because she was the famous Hermione Granger.

It was all she had left now. She should have been married by now; married and settled and enjoying the fruits of victory that she and her two friends had worked so hard to achieve. But that had disintegrated last summer; disintegrated in the fireball that had claimed the life of her fiancé and had driven her friend from the magical world. That terrible day had ultimately cost her both of the men that had made her life worth living.

She leaned forward on the couch and slid open the drawer in her coffee table, carefully removing the envelope that lay within along with the small wooden box that had arrived with the letter. The writing paper was crumpled now; testament to the number of times she had gone through this ritual in the past eleven months and she laid the letter out flat on the table before gently smoothing it out with the palm of her hand. It was from Harry, dated two days after the Ministry inquiry into Ron's death - two days after the last time she had seen him.

At the hearing, Harry had been publicly reprimanded by the presiding officer for not demonstrating _"…__the due care and attention expected of an Auror,__"_ and for having_ "…__a blatant disregard for a superior's orders__."_ The tribunal had not gone as far as to outright blame Harry for Ron's death, but these final comments had been enough to damn him in the eyes of the Wizarding world.

She leaned forward again and extracted from the drawer a much folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. It was the edition from the day after the Ministry inquiry and it haunted her still. The lurid headline proclaimed the verdict of the magical world – _'__Weasley Murder - Potter Guilty of Negligence!__'_ It wasn't true – any of it – but she knew Harry believed it to be true and she was also aware that she had contributed to this belief.

She closed her eyes, remembering the immediate aftermath of the tribunal.

Harry had looked stunned at the verdict; had stood in a state of shock, his features pale. He had cast his eyes over all the Weasleys present, his expression pleading for forgiveness. That was when Ginny had screamed at him for causing the death of her brother. She had been hysterical and Harry had looked as if he had been struck such was the impact of these words from his fiancée. She herself had moved to comfort Ginny and had noticed his eyes switch to lock onto her own, his expression one of apology and pain. She had not been in the mood at that moment to offer him comfort or forgiveness – she had been dealing with her own grief and did not have the sympathy to spare.

'_It's probably best if you just leave, Harry.'_

She still couldn't believe she had said this to him. The last words she had spoken to him. She had only meant that he go somewhere until Ginny had cooled down a bit, but Harry had taken the meaning of her words literally and had complied with her suggestion to the fullest extent.

She forced her eyes open and willed herself to look at the photograph on the front page of the paper. Whoever the photographer was, he had done an admirable job in capturing the moment. He had caught the Weasleys and herself just as they had turned to leave the room. All were in profile and all had their backs turned away from Harry, shunning him as if he was contaminated in some way.

In the picture, Harry just stood there totally alone and completely stationary. She had never seen a magical photo quite like it. Whilst everyone else moved around as normal, the image of Harry remained absolutely still, as if someone had superimposed a Muggle image onto the magical photograph. He was surrounded by a press of people but still cut a solitary figure. He was looking directly at her retreating back as she left the room and his face was a mask of anguish. What troubled her most as she examined the photo were his eyes; his normally vibrant green eyes were dead and gave the impression that Harry Potter was a broken man. He looked utterly crushed.

'_It's probably best if you just leave, Harry.'_

She put the paper down and looked again at the letter, wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. The letter contained only one word; a word scrawled in his familiar sloping handwriting and a word that conveyed exactly the turmoil her friend was in.

_Sorry._

Nothing else. Not an explanation, nor any details of his whereabouts or intentions. Not even a signature on the bottom of the note. Only this solitary word that revealed so much.

_Sorry._

She carefully placed the letter back in the envelope and picked up the small wooden box. Opening the lid, she removed what lay within and held it in her hands, feeling the tears smart at her eyes again. She always reacted this way but she still made herself do it; almost as if she was punishing herself for having the temerity to carry on with her life when so much had gone wrong; for continuing to live after driving him away.

It was Harry's wand.

The eleven inch, Holly and Phoenix feather wand that had always meant so much to him. The wand that had caused him such pain when it had been broken at Godric's Hollow; the wand that he'd never let out of his sight.

And he had sent it to her.

She fully understood the message he was conveying. He was finished with magic; finished with everything that had once been his world. He had given so much to ensure the Magical World was safe, but it had demanded so much more from him as price for that safety. So many people he cared about had died and Hermione believed that Ron's death was the final straw. He blamed himself for all of the deaths, she knew, and no doubt his disappearance was to try and keep those he still cared about safe – including her she thought. She smiled sadly. It was probably just his 'saving people thing.'

But she missed him terribly and her emotions fluctuated between an all consuming desire to see him again, to outright anger at him for being so bloody selfish, to profound guilt for driving him away. She felt abandoned and betrayed – first by Ron for dying on her and then at Harry for leaving when she needed him more than ever. She'd tried to track him down but had absolutely no leads to go on. No one had any idea where he was. She had put adverts in every newspaper – both Magical and Muggle – begging him to return but such efforts had produced no results. She had no idea if she would ever see him again and it had crossed her mind on more than one occasion that Harry might have taken a very final way out of his problems.

_No. Harry would never do that. Would never take his own life._

She shook her head, deciding that she'd had enough and carefully placed the wand back in its box before returning it, the paper and the letter to the drawer. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand to clear the tears. Although it always upset her, she still felt the need to put herself through this little ritual. Somehow, it made her feel better to touch something that had been so important to Harry – to the three of them in the end.

She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes.

_Harry, where are you?_

But the only answer was her own damning words.

'_It's probably best if you just leave, Harry.'_


	2. Faces From The Past

**Faces From the Past**

Narcissa Malfoy was at her wits end as she approached the small cottage where she hoped the answer to her prayers lay. She had been awoken abruptly by one of her house elves to be informed that her solicitor, Vladimir Blackhouse, had arrived and was demanding an audience. After hastily getting dressed, she and her husband had come downstairs to meet the grim faced lawyer and had been appalled at the tidings he brought.

Draco had been arrested for the murder of Cho Chang and was being held at the Ministry. Her shock at the news had been profound, but just as she thought that things could not get any worse, Blackhouse had dropped the next bombshell.

'_I've spoken to the chief prosecutor for the Wizengamot. They hope to hold a trial within the next few days – he says they will be pushing for the ultimate punishment. He's confident that Draco will receive the Dementor's Kiss if found guilty. He doesn't expect it to take long either. We only have a few days.'_

She had nearly passed out at hearing this news, but had listened intently as the lawyer had explained the circumstances of Draco's arrest.

'_It seems a clear cut case, I don't hold out much hope,_' he had said, much to his regret. He had then explained that many influential people were using the situation as leverage to settle some old scores against the Malfoy family as a whole. This at least she could understand; despite her betrayal of the Dark Lord, there were many who would never forgive the Malfoys for their actions in supporting him in the past. It seemed that Draco was to be the price exacted for their many misdemeanours.

But it didn't make sense to her. She knew Draco was no angel, but she also knew that he was not – could not be – a cold blooded killer. It just was not in his nature. She desperately sought to find some flaw in the story; some chink in the seemingly watertight case of the Ministry but she could find none. All she had was a mother's certainty that her son was innocent. She knew that this would not be sufficient to save Draco, but she was aware of a legal loophole that might. If nothing else, she should be able to buy her son some time.

This was why she was now standing at the front door of a cottage she had not visited in many, many, years. Such was the extent of her desperation she had been reduced to seeking assistance from the most unlikely sources. She took a deep breath before rapping on the door. It took a few moments for it to swing open and when it did, the reaction of the householder was one of shock.

'Hello, sister,' said Narcissa as she regarded the woman in front of her. For her part, Andromeda Tonks stood frozen in place for a few moments before gaining the presence of mind to react. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.

'Narcissa,' she said, flatly. 'To what do I owe the honour of such a visit?'

'I need your help,' replied Narcissa. 'May I come in?'

Andromeda looked for a moment as if she might refuse the request, but then she relented and swung the door open wider to admit her sister. She turned her back and headed into her living room. Narcissa followed. When she arrived in the room her eyes were immediately drawn to a small boy playing in the corner. Despite her current predicament, she smiled.

'I presume this is Teddy?' she asked. Andromeda merely nodded, not in the mood for such small talk. 'Yes, it is. Now what do you want, sister?'

Narcissa was taken aback by the curt tone. She took a deep breath. 'I need your help, Andromeda. I need to know where Harry Potter is.'

Andromeda Tonks' eyes widened at these words and she grabbed the dresser she was standing next to for support. She took a moment to decide what to say.

'What makes you think I can help?' she asked, her voice betraying her discomfort. 'Why would you think I know where he is?'

'Because he is the Godfather of your grandson, that's why,' replied Narcissa, pointing to Teddy. 'Harry may have cut himself off from our world but I do not think he would completely sever all ties with a child. You know where he is. Tell me. Please?'

Andromeda's face darkened. 'I cannot. Harry instructed me to inform no one that I know where he is. I will not betray that trust. I think you should…'

'Do you know Uncle Harry?' asked a small voice. Both women turned to regard the small boy who looked on the visitor with a curious expression on his face. Narcissa approached him and crouched down to his level. He was a handsome child; there was a definite resemblance to her niece Nymphadora, although he had the eyes of his father.

'Not very well,' began Narcissa. 'I…helped him once, and now I need his help in return.'

'Well, if you helped Uncle Harry then you must be OK. Uncle Harry is cool,' replied Teddy. Narcissa smiled at the innocence of the child.

'He is,' she replied. 'He is cool. That is why I need his help.' She turned to her sister. 'You know what this is about; you know why I am here and why it has to be Harry. You know the law as well as I do. Can you tell me, please?'

Andromeda sighed. 'I heard about Draco. I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose people you love.' Her voice hardened. 'Your master made sure of that.'

Narcissa closed her eyes, feeling the hatred and anger of her own sister. She was well aware that the sins of the past often came back to haunt the present. 'I know, and I am sorry. So sorry I was ever involved with him. But Draco is the only person I truly love and he has not yet been taken from me. Can you help me? Please, sister, I beg you.'

Andromeda regarded her sister for a long moment, remembering the days when they had been close before their respective choices had torn them apart. She turned her attention to Teddy; he was all she had left now; all she had to sustain her through her days. Even after nearly six years, the pain of losing her husband and daughter was still raw and she realised with surprise that she did not want her sister to go through the same torment. Finally she nodded. She picked up a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled down an address.

'God forgive me for this, Narcissa, because Harry definitely won't,' she said, handing the parchment over.

Narcissa didn't reply immediately. Instead, tears forming in her eyes, she took the parchment and embraced her sister. 'Thank you,' she said. 'You always were the better of the two of us.'

Andromeda didn't reply, instead she held her sister and wondered if she might not be so alone anymore. She just hoped Harry would understand and forgive her some day.

Harry Potter awoke with a groan and rolled over in order to turn his face away from the sunlight that streamed in through his small bedroom window. He glanced at his alarm clock, noticing without concern that most of the day had passed. _Again._ He grabbed his pillow and held it over his face for a few moments and willed himself to rise in order to face yet another day. Finally, he sat up and pulled back the sheets before swinging himself out of bed. Naked, he staggered to the miniscule bathroom and grasped blindly for the tap before splashing some cold water on his face. Grabbing a facecloth, he dabbed the moisture from his brow and regarded himself in the cracked mirror on the small cabinet above the sink.

He looked terrible.

Although only twenty three, Harry Potter looked much older than his years. At first glance, one might consider him a young man; he had a fine, athletic physique; indeed, he had filled out considerably since leaving the Wizarding world. His hair was long and unkempt and hung loosely down to his shoulders. But his face would deceive anyone attempting to guess his age. His features were drawn into what had become an almost permanent frown and as a consequence, deep lines marred his brow. His eyes – once so sparkling and vibrant – were lifeless and hinted at experiences of a much older man. It was the eyes that gave the lie to his true age; the eyes that made people keep a respectful distance from this morose, silent young man.

Harry sighed as he regarded himself. He was not aware of the effect his countenance had on people but he would not have cared if he had known. He knew he looked terrible and ruefully realised that it was probably because he felt terrible. He glanced back to his bed, noticing the empty bottles that lay strewn on the floor. Indeed, almost the entirety of his small one roomed apartment was littered with empty bottles and take away food cartons.

_Fuck it,_ he thought to himself. He had been meaning to tidy up for weeks now, but never he never seemed able to get round to it. Instead, Harry Potter lived in his own filth and did not particularly care about that either. He opened the cabinet door and removed a pill bottle before unscrewing the lid and popping a few tablets into his mouth. It had become a morning ritual and it occurred to him that he needed to take more painkillers each morning in order to square himself up to face the day. Shuffling back into his room, he picked at a few of the discarded food cartons on the floor until he found the one he had been eating from last night. Thankfully, he found a slice of cold pizza within and began munching at it to take the edge off his hunger. He flipped on the TV and decided to see what was happening in the world. For Harry Potter, his daily routine had just begun.

Narcissa Malfoy drew her cloak across her face as she ventured down the narrow street that led to the address that her sister had provided her with the previous day. It was located near the dockside in the town of Peterhead; a small port on the North East coast of Scotland that depended on the sea for its existence. It was a fishing community and the stench from the nearby harbour was testament to the maritime crop that provided sustenance to the hardy souls that eked out their living on this barren coast.

She'd actually had to consult a map in order to discover the exact location of Harry Potter's chosen place of exile. To say that she had been astonished at the choice was something of an understatement. With the whole world to choose from, Potter had selected to spend his life as far from civilised society as it was possible to get. It did not occur to her that this was exactly why Harry Potter had ended up in Peterhead.

She regarded the dingy row of flats that lined both sides of the narrow street and had a sudden memory of the visit she and Bella had paid to Severus Snape all those years ago. This street had the same air of seediness about it and she made sure that she had a firm grip on her wand as she counted off the house numbers as she passed. The memory of Snape saddened her; she still could not believe that he had taken the Unbreakable Vow whilst knowing that he was working against the Dark Lord. It occurred to her too that she was the only one left alive from the little gathering in that filthy hovel. Severus, Bella and Pettigrew were all dead; only she survived from that fateful meeting. The Dark Lord had a lot to answer for.

She realised with a start that she had arrived at the apartment block where Andromeda had said Potter dwelt. Casting a quick glance around the empty street, she proceeded up the stairs until she reached the correct landing. She approached a warped wooden door, its red paint peeling badly. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she rapped on it firmly.

After what seemed like an age, it was swung open and Narcissa Malfoy found herself looking at a face she had not seen in nearly six years. Harry Potter had changed much in that time for it was no longer a slight schoolboy who stood before her; instead, it was a young man old before his years, clad only in a pair of jeans, who regarded her with a look of astonishment on his face. The look quickly vanished, however, changing to one of distaste and anger.

'I'm going to kill Andromeda when I see her,' he growled.

'Don't blame my sister. She only told me because she knows how much I needed to speak to you.'

Harry sneered at her and moved to slam the door in her face but Narcissa had anticipated him and thrust her foot into the jam.

'What the fuck do you want?' snarled Harry. 'Move your foot before I break your fucking leg.'

Narcissa concealed her shock at the coarse words and the overt threat. Instead, still gripping her wand tightly, she looked him in directly in the eye. 'Please, Harry. I need your help.' She found herself wanting to turn away from his stare such was the pain and hatred in his eyes. Despite this, she held his gaze and was surprised when Harry broke eye contact first. He looked as if he was considering his next move.

'Why should I help you?' he finally asked. 'What could you possibly want from me? I get people killed, remember?'

He had tried to sound contemptuous – even defiant – but to Narcissa, he sounded like a lost child.

'It's not me that needs your help. It's Draco. Please. Can I come in and explain?' She saw him consider his words for a moment and was certain that he was about to refuse. 'I helped you once, remember,' she added quietly.

Harry laughed at this; laughed bitterly and scornfully. 'Helped me?' he sneered. 'You weren't helping me; you were only trying to save the skin of that worthless son of yours. Had Draco not been in danger you would have denounced me to Voldemort, so don't you dare try to play that card. I owe you nothing, Narcissa; I repaid that debt that same night. Draco is alive because of me.'

'I know, but they are after him again. That is why I am here; our enemies are going to take him away from me!' her voice broke as she said this and something of her distress penetrated the wall that Harry had built up around himself. He regarded her for a long moment before turning and heading into his room. He left the door open at his back and Narcissa followed him in.

She tried to hide her distaste as she took in her surroundings. The tiny room was filthy with empty bottles and food cartons littering the floor. She watched as Harry slumped onto his bed and regarded her, not saying a word or asking if she wanted anything. Casting her glance around, she noticed a solitary chair by the window and decided to take a seat unbidden. Harry merely sat staring at her, his arms folded across his chest. Clearly it was up to her to begin the conversation. Not knowing how to begin, she instead placed her hand in her robes and removed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ before handing it to him. He regarded the newspaper with obvious distaste, but read the front page article anyway, his eye drawn to the lurid headline.

_**Malfoy Heir Faces Kiss- Exclusive by Rita Skeeter**_

It took him a few minutes to read the article in full and she thought he saw a flash of regret on his otherwise hard features. Once finished he regarded her with a look of confusion. This was quickly replaced with contempt, however.

'So,' he began, 'Draco is about to get his just desserts, is he? Well, that's what happens when you go around murdering women, I suppose.' He paused for a moment. 'So what exactly is it you want from me Narcissa? To break him out of prison?' he asked scornfully.

'Draco is innocent!' exclaimed Narcissa. 'You know as well as I do that he is not capable of murder!' She calmed herself with an effort before continuing. 'He has been framed, I am certain of it.'

'Framed? And who exactly would want to frame Draco?' Harry noticed Narcissa raise her eyebrow at this and reconsidered his own question. He laughed bitterly. 'Fair enough; maybe it would be easier to ask who wouldn't want to see a Malfoy in trouble. OK, supposing I accept that he has been framed; what do you expect me to do about it?'

'They are threatening to perform the Kiss on him; it is not enough for our enemies to see him in prison or even killed. It is the Kiss that they want.'

'So?' asked Harry.

'So I can buy him some time because of this.' She noticed by the expression on his face that Harry had no idea what she was talking about. This was hardly surprising; hardly anyone knew the law in detail in such matters. She sighed. 'When the Prosecution demand that someone be Kissed, the Defence are permitted to appoint an independent investigator to ascertain the facts. Because the punishment is so severe, every effort is made to ensure guilt. I can postpone his trial by seven days in order to conduct my own investigation. It is an old law, but it still exists.'

'Why seven days?' asked Harry.

'You know the number seven is a powerful symbol in our world.'

'In your world, maybe. It means nothing to me anymore. I'll ask you again; what do you expect me to do about it?'

'I want you to be Draco's investigator.'

Silence greeted these words; a silence that seemingly stretched into perpetuity as Narcissa sat calmly and watched the shocked reaction of Harry Potter. Finally, he laughed.

'Me? Why the fuck would you want me? I have left your world, remember? I want nothing to do with it and I certainly won't be drawn back in for the sake of Draco Malfoy.'

'I want you because I think you are the only person who can help.' She licked her lips as she considered what to say next. 'The law on this is quite archaic, but it is the law. The investigator must be an active law enforcement officer of good standing. I understand that you have never officially resigned, nor have the Ministry actually dismissed you. There is not a single other Auror who would be willing to take the case on. You are my last hope.'

Harry sneered at her words. 'I don't think I have a particularly "good standing" in the magical world, do you? I was blamed for Ron's death and publicly censured.' Pain crossed Harry's face as he said this. 'Don't you think that prevents me from taking the position – if I wanted it, that is?'

'No, it doesn't. You were not dismissed; only reprimanded. Also, your previous history: your achievements against the Dark Lord. These more than make up for one single reprimand on your record. There is no way the Prosecution could refuse your appointment.'

Harry shrugged. 'It doesn't matter anyway. I have finished with magic; it's why I am here. There is nothing that I would want to return for.'

Narcissa thought she detected a hint of doubt in his words, but this was not the time for idle speculation. Instead, she played her final card.

'Harry, there are people out to get my family and they have targeted my son in order to do so. Now, I know that you have no love for the Malfoy name, but I would ask you to consider the real questions here.'

'And what would they be?'

'You know, deep down, that Draco would not have been capable of murdering this girl – he couldn't even kill Dumbledore when he had the chance. If you accept this fact, then you must accept that he has been framed.'

'And?'

Narcissa sighed. 'And if he has indeed been framed, then there exists a conspiracy against my family. Someone is out to get us and so the bigger questions are "who?" and "why?" My family played a small part in the demise of the Dark Lord and we were not punished by the Ministry for previous sins. Has it occurred to you that the Malfoys may not be the only victims of a revenge plot? That perhaps you and Ron Weasley were targets too? You both played a far greater role in the Dark Lord's fall than the Malfoys. If they have come after us, isn't it possible that they went after you too?'

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously at these words. 'How dare you,' he said. 'How dare you try to drag Ron into this. He died because of my stupidity, not because of any conspiracy.'

'Whether you were at fault or not is irrelevant! Someone did lay the trap that killed Ron Weasley. It might just as easily have been you that was killed. Are you telling me that you have no desire to find out who murdered your friend?' Narcissa's voice was scathing as she said this.

'Ron has nothing to do with this!'

'Probably not,' conceded Narcissa. 'But there _might_ be a connection. Is that not something worth pursuing? Do you not think that you might better honour your friend's death by helping me now? Is this the life Ron would have wanted for you, Harry?' she asked, sweeping her arm around the soiled room. She did not give him time to finish. 'I believe Draco has been framed. If this is true, then a conspiracy exists. If I were you, I would wonder if Ron's death was simply a case of terrorism and murder, or whether it was something more sinister.' She paused for a moment, her voice breaking. 'I beg you, Harry; please help me. My son is all that I live for; I could not bear it if he were to be taken from me.'

Narcissa looked beseechingly at the young man before him and inwardly prayed that he would do the right thing. She watched as he averted his gaze from her, but she could tell from his expression that his mind was churning at her words. After what seemed like an age, Harry Potter finally turned from his thoughts to face her.

He nodded.

Hermione Granger leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath as she tried to make herself more comfortable. She had just enjoyed a lavish meal courtesy of the Weasleys and as usual she had eaten more than she should have done thanks mainly to the promptings of Molly. It was the first Sunday of the month and as a result she was enjoying dinner at the Burrow; a family tradition that had started not long after Voldemort's demise and one that was continued, despite Ron's death. As Molly had said; '_you will always be considered part of this family, dear - you and Harry – whatever happens._' Only now there existed a number of vacant places at the Weasley table. Ron and Harry were no longer a part of the tradition and, of course, the absence of Fred was still something that the family had to deal with. Molly and Arthur had lost two children and the grief of this was still evident sometimes. Hermione was also aware that part of that grief was for Harry; grief for the boy they had virtually adopted and who was no longer a part of their lives. None of the Weasleys blamed Harry for Ron's death; Hermione knew this but frustratingly there was no way to let Harry know of this truth.

She glanced up as Ginny approached with a glass of wine in each hand.

'Care to join me?' she asked. 'Mum's cooking is great, but she does tend to overdo it. I find a cold glass of wine and a comfy chair help to settle the stomach,' she added with a wink.

Hermione smiled and joined her friend in the sitting room. She curled up on the couch and regarded her friend as she accepted the glass of wine. Ginny had recovered well from the events of last summer. While it was true that she was not as carefree as before, she had adapted to the loss of her brother and fiancé. It was not that she did not miss both Ron and Harry. Neither was it the case that she did not want to see Harry return either. Rather, it was because she had accepted that Harry was not to blame for Ron's death and had realised that the past could not be changed. Ginny had went through a very similar process to Hermione last year; first overwhelming grief for the loss of Ron and then all-consuming guilt for the harsh words spoken to Harry. That these words were borne out of emotion and not meant did not matter. They had been said and had been enough to send Harry away. Ginny had accepted that there was nothing to be done about it now, save hope that he might one day return. She did not involve herself in the search for him however, believing instead that he would come back if and when he wanted to. She was of the opinion that if Harry wanted to remain hidden then not even the exertions of Hermione Granger would be enough to track him down. So far, she had been proven correct.

'How are things?' Ginny asked. 'Been up to anything?'

Hermione smiled, knowing the path the conversation was about to take. It had become something of a little tradition between them. 'Not bad,' she replied. 'I'm being kept busy at work so that helps to keep me going. We have a new project about to commence soon.'

Ginny smiled slyly. 'I wasn't talking about your work, Hermione. Have you been up to anything apart from work?'

Hermione blushed. 'Well, I have arranged to have a few more adverts placed in the newspapers about Harry. I still believe that there is a chance he will come across one of them.'

Ginny shook her head as she regarded her friend. 'You really need to let go, Hermione. Harry's gone; he will come back when he wants to, not before and not because he reads his name in the newspaper. You need to move on. I mean; when was the last time you were out on a date?'

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously at this question. 'You know fine well, Ginny. With your brother, just before he was killed, remember?' She had meant to wound, but Ginny did not seem too perturbed.

'Exactly. It has been nearly a year, Hermione. It was Ron who died that day, not you. You still have your life to live; immersing yourself in work and fruitless searches for Harry is no sort of life. You need to move on.'

Hermione hated her friend at that moment. Hated her because she was well aware that Ginny was correct. The problem was that she was too scared to move on. Ron and Harry had been her life; she'd had one cruelly snatched from her and she still felt responsible for driving the other away. To 'move on,' as Ginny put it, seemed to her like a betrayal of both men. To date someone else seemed to her like spitting on Ron's memory and to give up the search for Harry would mean accepting that she could never make amends for her mistake. How could she move on?

Ginny regarded her friend, knowing that she had pushed her too hard today. She decided to change the subject. 'Anyway,' she said in an affected voice, 'what do you make of the Malfoy case? Isn't it terrible? Poor Cho! Do you think he did it?'

Hermione was grateful for the change of topic. She smiled, despite the seriousness of the questions. Ginny was a gossip whore and the Malfoy case was without doubt the biggest story since the death of Voldemort.

'I don't know what to answer first!' She protested. 'I still can't believe that Cho Chang is dead, poor woman. I never saw eye to eye with her, but…' she left the rest unsaid.

'Yeah, I know. You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy. I still can't believe Draco could do such a thing.'

Hermione nodded. 'I know. In fact, I have serious doubts that he did do it.'

'But the evidence seems overwhelming. The _Prophet_ must have a good source amongst the Aurors; they seem to know exactly what happened.'

'That's the point,' replied Hermione. 'It just seems to neat; too pat. Draco may be a lot of things, but he's not a murderer. Or a fool. Do you really thing he would allow himself to be caught like that?'

'He says he can't remember anything,' said Ginny, ignoring Hermione's questions. 'Convenient isn't it? I think he has selective amnesia.'

'Or someone performed a memory charm on him,' replied Hermione.

Ginny shook her head. 'No, they tested him to see if any spells had been cast on him. There was no trace of any wand work; there were no magical signatures in the room either. It looks like a pretty open and shut case. Did you hear that the Prosecution want him Kissed?'

Hermione nodded, shuddering at the thought. No matter what he had done, Draco Malfoy did not deserve that fate. No one did. 'Yes, it would appear that a lot of old scores are being settled against the Malfoys. They have the worst of both worlds; people on our side hate them for what they did as Death Eaters and Voldemort's old supporters hate them for betraying their master. I wouldn't be in their shoes for all the gold in Gringotts.'

Ginny nodded her agreement. 'Well, the trial is due to start tomorrow and the _Prophet_ says it should be a quick one. Unless the Malfoys can pull something out of their shoes soon, Draco is for the chop. I wonder what made him do it.'

'Who knows?' replied Hermione. 'Maybe it will come out at the trial tomorrow. One's thing for sure; the Malfoys won't take this lying down. They will throw every penny they have at the case. Money can only get you so far though; I don't think they can buy their way out of this one. It is going to be interesting to see what they will do,' she added.

Ginny thought about this, wondering just how much more interesting things could possibly get.


	3. Soul Thief

**Soul Thief**

Harry sat on his bed in his rundown apartment and considered his reasons for having just agreed to help Narcissa Malfoy. He had vowed never to return to the Magical World and could not believe that he was now preparing to do so in order to help Draco of all people. He had agreed to accompany Narcissa to a meeting with the Minister tonight - if his presence was required - and he was not looking forward to it. Once he was spotted at the Ministry, word of his return would break out and his name would be all over the newspapers like a rash the following day. He smiled ruefully; of all the reasons that he might have considered for returning to the magical world, the welfare of his former enemy was not one that he had even remotely thought of. Life was strange sometimes, he decided.

If he was honest with himself, there were a number of reasons for agreeing to help. Narcissa was correct; she _had_ helped him that fateful night at Hogwarts when the destiny of their world had been at stake. Whatever her motives, there was no doubt that he would not have succeeded had Narcissa Malfoy not lied to Voldemort. For all his bluster, Harry knew that this simple fact could not be denied.

He was also saddened to read of the death of Cho Chang. Whilst his teenage infatuation with the Ravenclaw girl had been both fleeting and childish, he could not deny that he once had feelings for her and deeply regretted the manner in which she died. He was not used to feeling anything these days, such was the success with which he had suppressed his emotions, but he was objective enough to realise that news of her death had affected him. He found this strange.

He had also felt a degree of sympathy when Narcissa had spoken of her fear of losing Draco to the Dementors. And he did have to admit that her assertion that Draco was innocent was probably correct; Draco Malfoy was no more capable of brutal murder than he was of flying to the moon on a flobberworm. Accepting this as a truth, he also accepted that her second assertion – that there was a conspiracy at work – must also be true.

It was this that had made him decide to help, he realised. This and the faint possibility that Narcissa might be correct in her belief that what had happened to Draco was in some way related to what had happened to Ron. He didn't think it likely, but if someone was settling old scores then it might be possible that he and Ron had been targeted too. And then there was one final reason, he knew; a reason that he did not enjoy admitting to himself. It was time to go home; his self imposed exile was not what he needed.

He closed his eyes, remembering the moment when he knew he had to go.

'_It's probably best if you just leave, Harry.'_

These words had crushed him. Ginny's hysterics had been understandable and he knew in the abstract that her words were spoken in the heat of the moment and were not to be taken at face value. But the calm, understated request from Hermione for him to get out of her sight had been too much. He had been struggling with the guilt of Ron's death and had relived the moment over and over in his head. He _should_ have obeyed orders and made sure neither of them attempted to enter the building and he still struggled to deal with this knowledge. But when he had turned to Hermione that day in the Ministry to seek forgiveness she had turned him away. This he could not deal with. Hermione was his rock; his salvation on so many occasions, but it seemed that he had finally exhausted even her seemingly limitless supply of compassion and love. For this he could not forgive himself; his role in Ron's death had changed his dearest friend for the worse and he could not bear to face her again with that knowledge.

So he had run. Had raced home, packed a bag and left for what he had thought at the time would be forever. He'd made his way to King's Cross and caught a train north. He'd had no destination in mind – just a desire to get as far away as possible from Hermione's pain and the accusations of the magical world. He also suspected that Ron had died instead of him and feared that others may yet pay the ultimate price for being close to him. After a few weeks of crossing the country, he had eventually found himself in Peterhead and had decided that the small fishing community suited his needs. As far as he could tell, there wasn't a witch or wizard within fifty miles and that was good enough for him.

He had tried to write to her; to explain in words that she might read and understand someday but he had been unable to convey the sorrow and regret he was feeling. Instead he had contented himself with a one word apology – a coward's way out, to be sure, but the only way out he could see. He had sent her his wand too, hoping that she would understand the message he was sending. The magical world would be better off without him. Indeed, Hermione would be better off without him.

He cast his mind back over the previous eleven months. In that time he had been almost totally alone, forging virtually no new friendships or associations. The only exception to this was the man who had offered him a degree of salvation when he first arrived in the town. He'd been having a quiet drink in one of the many pubs down by the harbour when he'd heard a man ask in a broad Scots accent if anyone was looking for work. Harry discovered later that Duncan MacKinnon had heard of the arrival of a morose, quiet young Englishman and had entered the pub with the specific intention of checking him out. It had been no accident when he had bought Harry a drink and - speaking in his lilting Gaelic tones - had offered Harry a job on his fishing trawler. Harry was ready to refuse the offer out of hand, but the Skipper had said something to change his mind. The hardened old seaman had told him over their drinks that the sea had no memory. It was as if he had known that Harry was running from his past and was offering him a chance to escape from it. This had been enough for Harry; he'd picked up his coat and followed the man to a place where he could lose himself.

And he had lost himself. Going out for weeks at a time had given Harry the opportunity to think and to come to terms with what he had become. He liked the work - physical and demanding though it was – and soon noticed that he was getting stronger with each passing day. His crewmates never pried; never asked him about his past and for that Harry was more grateful than he would ever care to admit. They had accepted him as part of their lives and he was touched by this for he knew that their very lives depended on each other when they were at sea. Despite this mutual trust, however, he had not allowed himself to get too close to these men.

Instead, he'd built a wall around himself; a wall that he had vowed to let no one breach. He knew that whenever he got close to people, he hurt them. Therefore, the solution was simple; remain alone.

So it was strange that Narcissa Malfoy had been the person to make the first breach in his defences. He'd successfully rejected all previous overtures and it was with no small degree of guilt that Harry remembered his reaction the first time he saw his name in a Muggle newspaper.

_Hermione._

She wanted to see him; wanted him to come home – even to the extent of taking out adverts in the press. But he'd resisted the urge to comply. He'd come close to crying when he had discovered the personal ad in the classified section, but he had used this sudden display of weakness to strengthen his resolve. He'd turned his emotions inwards, suppressing them utterly. Then he'd simply stopped reading newspapers altogether. He would not weaken again.

But now it seemed he had finally cracked, he realised. He _was _returning to the magical world, albeit for the sake of his own curiosity and welfare. _But this time things would be different_, Harry vowed to himself. Stay _aloof, don't get involved with anyone. Just do the job and go_.

He wondered briefly if he would see Hermione again, but dismissed the thought. Whether he saw her or not was irrelevant. The Harry Potter she knew was dead. It would be better for both their sakes that she did not get to know the man he had now become.

Sighing, he grabbed his backpack and the Portkey Narcissa had left for him. Taking one last glance around his flat he satisfied himself that he had not left anything of value behind. It occurred to him that he might never return here, but he found that he was not bothered by this. Life went on, he knew, and sometimes all a man could do was go along with the flow. He was doing that now; he only hoped that the flow washed him to more pleasant surroundings than those he had been enduring of late.

Kingsley Shacklebolt placed the inevitable folder he had been reading on his desk and mentally prepared himself for his next appointment. He had been deliberately postponing any meeting with Narcissa Malfoy because he was aware that he would not be able to offer her the hope that she desired to find. He had meticulously gone over all the paperwork pertaining to the Malfoy case and had satisfied himself that the case for the Prosecution was watertight. It was now up to the court to decide the fate of Draco Malfoy.

But he knew Narcissa would not blithely accept his conclusions. The forthcoming interview would not be pleasant; he only hoped that the woman would not lose her composure. Kingsley had faced many mortal enemies over the years, but was well aware that one thing he could not deal effectively with was an emotional woman. Sighing, he rose from his chair and approached his door. Opening it, he saw his personal secretary at her desk.

'Susan? Would you be so kind as to tell Mrs Malfoy that I will see her now?'

Susan Bones nodded and left the outer office. Kingsley waited by the door until his guest arrived. When Narcissa entered the room, he regarded her dispassionately.

_She was still a handsome woman,_ he thought to himself. These past few days must have been a living hell for her, but she still looked calm and collected and her beauty – cold thought it was – was almost overpowering in the confines of his office. He stretched out his hand.

'Narcissa. Good to see you. How may I be of assistance?'

Narcissa took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led into the inner office and guided into a comfortable chair by the Minister's desk. She watched as Kingsley closed the door and took his own seat.

'Can I get you something to drink?' he asked.

She shook her head, almost defiantly.

'So, what can I do for you?' he asked.

'I am obviously here regarding the trial of my son. There have been some developments in the case that you need to be apprised of. I am moving for an adjournment and thought to do you the courtesy of informing you in advance.'

Kingsley struggled to hide his surprise. He took a moment before replying.

'Narcissa, I'm sure you are aware that the Prosecution is content with the case they have built and that no delay is possible. The trial date has been set in accordance with our laws; no procedural rules have been broken. What are these new developments you speak of?'

'Before I answer, can you confirm that the Prosecution are resolved to press for the ultimate penalty? That my son will be Kissed if found guilty?' She looked calm as she asked this, but her voice threatened to break, giving the lie to her composure.

'I am afraid that is indeed the case, Narcissa. I wish it were otherwise, but my hands are tied.'

'How can you say that? You are Minister, are you not?'

Kingsley frowned. 'Of course I am Minister, but you know it is not as simple as that. A condition of the pardon you, your husband and Draco received in return for helping Harry was that any future transgressions would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. You know this. You are also aware that the Malfoys have many enemies within our society. Not everyone has been able to forgive and forget. And let us not forget that the Chang family is very influential in the Wizengamot. It was unlikely that they would be content with a mere custodial sentence after their daughter was so brutally slain. You know all of these things, Narcissa. The law must take its course. If found guilty, Draco will be Kissed. I am truly sorry to say this; but I have no room for manoeuvre in this.'

'You could use the Ministerial prerogative. The previous two occupants of this office were not slow to do so when they felt it necessary. You could commute the sentence to imprisonment.'

Kingsley sighed. 'Narcissa, the previous two occupants of this office nearly brought ruin to us all when they exercised their prerogative. They nearly lost us the war with their antics. As a result, I try to use it as little as possible, as you well know. You also know that I am trying to force through several laws relating to the equality for magical creatures and the removal of some of the oldest discriminatory laws that remain on our statute books. If I interfere in this case, I will lose what little support I have amongst some of the older families. I cannot jeopardise this legislation for the fate of one convicted murderer, however horrific that fate is. You must understand this, Narcissa.'

'I do understand, Minister, perhaps better than you realise. My married name may be Malfoy, but I am a Black before anything else. I understand all too well the hypocrisy of politics. How men are willing to inflict a terrible fate on an innocent man for the sake of the "greater good". Believe me, I _understand,_' she added contemptuously.

Kingsley looked flustered for a moment, but soon recovered his composure. 'So what are the new developments that you think I should be made aware of?' he asked.

'I have appointed a special investigator on Draco's behalf.'

Kingsley looked up sharply at these words. 'A Soul Thief? _You have appointed a Soul Thief?_' His incredulity was obvious.

'I prefer not to use that term, Minister; but yes, I have appointed a _Soul Thief_, as you so coarsely put it. You are no doubt aware that in the event of the Kiss being sought, the Defendant has the right to such an appointment? And you will also be aware that the appointed individual has seven days to conduct his own investigation? Well, I am invoking this law; I demand that the trial be adjourned. My son has appointed his own investigator.'

Kingsley regarded her for a long moment. 'I am aware of the law in this matter, Narcissa, but I must confess my surprise at your own knowledge – there hasn't been a Soul Thief appointed for over one hundred and fifty years. Most people have heard the term but do not realise exactly what it means; nor are they aware that this particular law remains on the books. There are _lawyers_ who are not aware of this law.'

'I am not "most people",' Narcissa calmly replied. 'I am a Black. We make it our business to study such matters.'

Kingsley regarded her with some respect as he considered his next words. 'You are aware that the investigator must be an active, accredited Law Enforcement Officer of good standing?' he asked. 'Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I did not think that any potential candidates would be willing to work for the Malfoys given your recent history. Some things money cannot buy, as I am sure you are aware.'

'As it happens Minister, the investigator I have appointed did not mention payment when I approached him. And I think you will find that he meets all the required criteria,' she added.

'Might I be apprised of the name of your Soul Thief?' asked Kingsley. 'You are aware that the court will have to ratify his appointment?'

'I am well aware of the law; he will be ratified, I have no doubt. It is Harry Potter who has agreed to act on Draco's behalf.'

Narcissa would have needed a heart of stone not to enjoy the reaction to her words. Kingsley nearly fell out of his chair at hearing the name, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head. It was amusing to see the normally unflappable Minister taken aback for once. He soon recovered his composure enough to speak, however.

'Harry? Harry _Potter?_ How in God's name did you manage that?' He narrowed his eyes for a moment. 'You have found him, haven't you? This isn't merely some delaying tactic to get the trial put back, is it? Harry hasn't been heard of for nearly a year.'

'I would not dare to try such a bluff when so much is at stake. Harry has agreed to help; I can summon him here in a few moments if you so desire, but he would prefer it if you did not do so. He does not want to be seen at the Ministry any sooner than is necessary. If you can accept his request, you will see him tomorrow at the trial. I have instructed my lawyers to request an immediate adjournment. I have every confidence that it will be granted.'

'If Harry Potter is your Soul Thief then there will be no problems.' Kingsley shook his head in disbelief and then, despite himself, he smiled. He wondered how he had been so adroitly outmanoeuvred in his own office. Narcissa had being playing him all along, he realised. He noticed that she too was smiling.

'I will take your word on it; I will wait until tomorrow before speaking to Harry. In the meantime, I will brief the judge.' He paused for a moment. 'You do realise the sensation that you are about to unleash?' he asked archly.

Narcissa's smile broadened; she was now certain that she had bought some time for her son. 'Sensation, Minister?' she asked. 'Why, it hadn't even crossed my mind that there would be any fuss.'

Draco Malfoy tried his best to remain calm as he sat in the Defendant's seat in the Ministry courtroom, awaiting the arrival of the presiding judge. To say that the last few days had been an ordeal was something of an understatement. He could not remember feeling so alone and afraid at any point in his life; not even when trying to kill Dumbledore in sixth year or during the battle for Hogwarts in seventh. What was happening to him now was so far beyond his comprehension that he felt his bowels turn to water whenever he thought about his predicament. Unfortunately, he had been unable to think of little else.

What was causing him the most anxiety was his complete failure to recall anything of the events of that fateful night. His mind was a complete blank from lunchtime the previous day and it was a deeply unsettling experience. He was actually afraid to discover the truth of these missing hours in case the truth proved to be something too horrible to contemplate.

_Maybe I did murder Cho Chang._

He was sure that he was not capable of such an act but was apprehensive of discovering the truth. Despite this, he knew that only by remembering did he have any hope of escape from a fate worse than death. His lawyer had informed him that he would receive the Dementors Kiss if found guilty. He had also been told that the trial would be a quick one – possibly even only a day long. He could be Kissed within the next forty eight hours. He had almost collapsed at hearing the news and had vowed to take his own life should such an event come to pass. Unfortunately, he was under twenty four hour supervision; killing himself might not prove to be so easy.

He glanced across to the public gallery and regarded his parents. He had been extremely disturbed at the lack of visits from them – especially his mother – but he had received a reassuring note from her last night. She had stated that the matter was in hand and that he was not to worry. He had no idea what she had up her sleeve, but he wouldn't put anything past her. She always had been more intelligent than his father, and as he glanced at her now, he saw her give a reassuring nod. His attention was diverted, however, by the sudden words of the clerk of the court.

'All rise!'

Draco felt his heart in his mouth as he scraped back his chair and watched the trial judge enter the courtroom. The clerk droned on

'Crown versus Draco Malfoy; Judge Matthias Swing presiding.' The court remained standing until – with slow deliberation – Judge Swing took his seat.

Draco sat down with the others and was surprised when he noticed that his lawyer remained standing. The judge regarded the advocate with a steely glare, reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall.

'Yes, Mr Blackhouse? You have something to say to the court?'

'Indeed, Your Honour, A matter of the gravest importance.'

'Pray, continue, Mr Blackhouse,' said the judge. It seemed to Draco that the two men were acting out a scene from a play. It was as if they both knew their lines in advance.

'As you will be aware, Your Honour, the crown is seeking the maximum penalty if my client is found guilty. In view of this, my client has made use of his right to appoint an investigator to examine the facts of the case. Both you and my learned friends of the Prosecution will be aware that in cases where the Kiss is sought, the defendant has the right to an adjournment of seven days in order to conduct a full, personal investigation. My client is exercising that right; an investigator has been appointed and I seek the court's approval to adjourn.'

Draco noticed that Blackhouse ignored the baleful looks he was receiving from the Prosecution. It was obvious that he knew he was on firm legal ground. For his own part, it was all he could do to stop the surprise from showing on his face. He turned to his mother, knowing that she was behind this welcome development.

_But who has she appointed?_ he thought to himself. His attention was suddenly brought back to the matter at hand.

'You are aware of the criteria that any investigator must meet?' asked the judge.

'I am well aware, sir. I have every confidence that the court will ratify the appointment.'

'And might we meet this investigator, Mr Blackhouse?' asked the judge archly.

'Of course.' Blackhouse turned to the gallery, clearly savouring the moment, thought Draco.

'Call Special Investigator Harry Potter to the Bench!'

The reaction to these words was astonishing. Within seconds the court was in uproar; every person in the public gallery on their feet and looking at the door, shouting and screaming. For his part, Draco sat in stunned silence, barely believing the words he had just heard and oblivious to the sound of the judge's gavel as he hammered it on his desk in a vain attempt to restore order. He only turned when he heard the great double doors of the courtroom swing open and saw Harry Potter emerge into the bedlam.

He turned to his mother who alone remained in her seat in the public gallery. She nodded to him.

_How in Merlin's name had she managed this_?

Hermione Granger sighed as she placed a completed memo into her 'out' tray and reached over to remove the next folder from the pile on her desk. This was the one aspect of her job that she could do without; the paperwork. She loved her job – or at least those parts of it that took her into direct contact with the various magical creatures that she had to deal with. Unfortunately, these meetings tended to generate a lot of paperwork and at the moment she had to deal with most of it herself.

She glanced up as she heard raised voices from the other side of office door and frowned, wondering who it could be. She looked at her watch, noticing that it was not yet eleven in the morning; it was too early for her lunch date with Ginny. She suddenly jumped in alarm as her office door burst open loudly and Ginny Weasley rushed in, a flustered look on her face.

'Ginny?' she asked, rising to her feet. 'What's going on?'

'He's back!' exclaimed Ginny breathlessly. 'Harry's back!'

It seemed to Hermione that her heart stopped in her chest when she heard these words and she looked at her friend, astonishment written all over her face. She couldn't speak; the suddenness of events had knocked her for six and she found it difficult to breathe. She tried to collect herself.

'Is this for real?' she finally managed to ask, her voice coming out almost as a squeak.

'You don't think I would joke about something like this, do you?' replied Ginny. 'Of course it's for real; here, take a look at this,' she added, offering a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that she carried in her hand.

Hermione regarded the newspaper with an almost natural disdain. She had not bought the _Prophet_ for years and had been delighted when the _Quibbler _had begun to outsell its main rival. A large reason for this was because she, Harry and Ron had refused to speak to the _Prophet_ after the war. She still could not forget some of the articles that had been written about Harry all those years ago. As a result, she viewed the _Prophet _with deep scepticism, flatly refusing to believe anything it said. For one thing, it had carried many false sighting reports of Harry in the past eleven months – this was probably just another one of those. Ginny seemed to sense her reserve.

'It's a special edition,' explained Ginny. 'They rushed it out in less than an hour this morning – it's just hit the streets. The Malfoy case has been postponed!' She was practically jumping up and down as she said this, such was her excitement.

Hermione really was confused now. _What_ _did the Malfoy case have to do with Harry_?

'Why?' she asked.

Ginny smiled. 'Just read the damn paper, Hermione; though you had better take a seat before you do.'

Hermione finally took the proffered newspaper and almost disdainfully unfolded it before looking at the front page. When she saw the picture splashed across the newspaper, she collapsed into her chair. It was a photo of Harry as he entered the Ministry courtroom. With trembling hands, she began to read the article.

_**Potter Sensation at Malfoy Trial! Boy-Who-Lived Appointed Soul Thief!**_

_By Rita Skeeter, Chief Reporter_

_The hugely anticipated trial of Draco Malfoy took an unbelievable turn this morning as it was adjourned for seven days amid riotous scenes at the Ministry. Exercising his ancient legal right to appoint a Soul Thief, Draco Malfoy threw the court into chaos by confirming Harry Potter as his personal investigator into this incredible case. Potter - who has not been seen in the Magical World since being condemned for his part in the death of Ronald Weasley - refused to make any comment other than to be sworn in as chief investigator. His whereabouts for the past eleven months remain unknown as no information was forthcoming from either Potter or the Malfoy camp._

_The magical community will be aware that Potter left under a cloud…_

Hermione shook her head, still trying to come to terms with the sudden news. Her brain could not process what was happening; after months of hearing nothing her mind was now struggling with information overload.

'What exactly is a "Soul Thief"?' she asked, her voice hoarse.

Ginny smiled, pleased for once to have knowledge that her friend lacked. 'It's an old slang expression from way back. It's a nickname for the investigator appointed by the defence in cases where the Kiss is sought. The idea is that his job is to steal a soul back from the Dementors. I didn't know the law still existed. It's very romantic when you think about it,' she added wistfully.

Hermione considered this information for a moment before disregarding it as irrelevant. She looked back to the newspaper and scrutinised the photograph. The courtroom was a scene of chaos but Harry seemed oblivious to the hubbub as he casually made his way to the bench. He had filled out a bit by the look of him and his hair was longer than when she had last seen him but there was no doubt it was Harry. She drew the picture up to her face to get a closer look. She focused her attention on his eyes, looking for some clue that he was indeed back.

_Nothing._ She could see through his glasses that his eyes remained dead; they had the same look as on the day he had looked so crushed after Ron's hearing. She looked up at Ginny again, fighting back the tears that now threatened to burst forth. _How had they found him?_

'He's really back,' she whispered, barely daring to believe it. 'Where is he now?'

'Upstairs; meeting with Kingsley. Do you want to go and see him?'

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice to reply.


	4. Meetings Made, Meetings Missed

Just a quick note to say "thank you" to those who have taken the trouble to leave a review. I hope you continue to enjoy this little tale...

**Meetings Made, Meetings Missed**

Harry sat silently in the corner of Kingsley's office and ignored his companions as he waited for the Minister's arrival. The reception he had received upon entering the courtroom had been more than he had anticipated and he'd been glad when the Judge had finally called a halt to proceedings and ordered Harry and the relevant lawyers into his chambers. It was there, in camera, that Harry had been sworn in as Draco Malfoy's investigator. After that, an owl had arrived from Kingsley instructing the Malfoys to go to the Minister's office as soon as possible.

Accompanied by their Soul Thief.

He had never heard the expression before but decided he liked the term. _Harry Potter – Soul Thief_. It had a certain ring to it.

Now he sat and studiously ignored both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as they hissed urgently at each other. He didn't need to be an investigator to know what they were talking about. Lucius had looked physically sick as Harry had taken the oath and since then had completely ignored him. The elder Malfoy looked almost fearful at the prospect of having his former enemy so close. Narcissa on the other hand, had embraced him and whispered a soft 'thank you' into his ear. He had winked at Lucius as she had done this and the elder Malfoy's anger was a sight to behold.

Harry had decided at that moment that this whole affair might prove an amusing distraction after all. If nothing else, he would get to annoy Lucius, and that was always a worthwhile enterprise.

He looked up as Kingsley entered the room with a broad smile on his face.

'Harry. Good to see you,' he said, offering his hand.

'Minister,' replied Harry stiffly, as he briefly shook hands. 'You wanted to see us?'

Kingsley looked taken aback by the coldness of Harry's tone but made no comment. Instead, with a frown, he indicated that they take a seat. He cast a quick glance at Harry before turning to the Malfoys.

'So, Narcissa,' he began, once all were settled, 'you have what you wanted. Your seven days start now. I have asked you here to lay down a few ground rules. You should know that Harry is entitled to review all evidence, witness statements and prosecution documents. He is also able to interview anyone he thinks may help in his investigation – including me, I might add. This applies only to Harry. He is allowed to appoint an assistant, but the assistant can only conduct interviews if Harry is also present. Also, the assistant does not need to meet the same criteria that Harry did. I can also tell you that should you face any obstacles or non-cooperation, you are to contact me immediately. Is that fair?

'More than fair, Minister. Thank you,' replied Narcissa. She turned to Harry, expecting him to speak, but he remained silent. 'Can Mr Potter commence immediately?' she asked.

'If he so wishes,' Kingsley confirmed.

A long silence stretched out as each person in the room waited for Harry to say something. He just sat morosely and stared at the floor.

'Well,' said Kingsley after a while, 'I think that is everyt….'

'The seven days start from tomorrow – not today.'

Kingsley looked surprised at the words. 'But, Harry, your appointment was ratified this morning. The seven days must start from now.'

'Not so; we are nearly halfway through the day and I have not even had a chance to familiarise myself with any aspects of the case. Even now I am being prevented from beginning my investigation by answering _your_ summons. My time is valuable; Draco Malfoy's very existence depends on it. Or are you deliberately trying to obstruct me?' He asked icily.

'Of course not!' Kingsley sounded affronted.

'Then the seven days start from tomorrow.'

Kingsley took a long moment to reply. Finally, he nodded. 'OK, Harry; I can agree to that. I will speak to the judge.' He noticed a thin smile on Narcissa Malfoys lips as she realised Harry had chiselled out yet another day of reprieve for her son. He ignored this and continued. 'What is it you need to familiarise yourself with the case?'

'Who was leading Auror?' asked Harry. His tone was like a whip.

'Dawlish.'

Harry nodded, satisfied. 'Then tell him I want everything he has on the case sent to Malfoy Manor by nine tomorrow morning. Everything,' he stressed. 'And I want him to do it in person.'

'Harry, he is a senior Auror. Surely he can send…'

'I don't give a fuck if he's just been made King; I want to see him. I also want an office here at the Ministry and access to all Auror files – not just those relating to this case. I want to see the Chang family and a list of names of everyone who communicated with Draco in the two weeks prior to his arrest. And I want to see Draco in person. Right now.'

Kingsley looked shocked – first at the profanity and then at the demands, but Harry couldn't care less.

'I don't know if I can agree to that Harr…'

For the third time, Harry cut him off. 'It wasn't a request, Minister. This is straightforward. Either you give me what I want or I instruct Mr. Blackhouse to move for an immediate discharge for Draco owing to Ministry intransigence. How long do you think you would survive as Minister if Draco gets off on a technicality?'

Kingsley's eyes flared for a moment. He was not used to this Harry Potter and was unaccustomed to anyone speaking to him in this manner. Then he remembered just what this young man had been through. And if he was honest with himself, he _was _aware of the consequences if Malfoy were to get off for such reasons. He calmed himself. 'It will be as you say, Harry. I shall pass on your instructions to Dawlish and make arrangements for you to see Draco. Is there anything else?'

'I want your personal authority in writing. Just a short note telling everyone to do as they are bloody well told. Then I will not need to bother you further.'

Kingsley nodded and – pulling out some parchment and a quill – wrote a short note and handed it to Harry. Then he stood.

'If you wait here a moment, Harry, I will make the arrangements for you to see Draco straight away.' He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Harry sat back morosely in his chair, aware of the astonished stares of the Malfoys but ignoring them for the moment. He read Kingsley's note and gave a small smile. It was exactly what he was looking for.

'Harry?' asked Narcissa in a small voice. 'What was all that about? It's not that I'm ungrateful for you obtaining another day, but I don't think it is a good idea to annoy Kingsley at the moment.'

Harry took a moment before replying. 'It was necessary. I needed to establish my authority.' He sighed. 'It's like this; if Draco has been framed and there is a conspiracy against your family then that conspiracy goes to the very top of our society. Despite the frequent fuck-ups of your dear husband,' – he ignored the sudden flush of anger on the elder Malfoy's face – 'the Malfoy family is still a major player in the magical world. This isn't some prank instigated by a disgruntled yob. Your enemies are powerful and influential people. That being the case, it would be extremely stupid to underestimate them. We can trust practically no one; but one person who will play this absolutely straight is Kingsley – he's as honest as they come. I suspect that your enemies will have people placed where they can obstruct me, so my initial demands had to be made directly to Kingsley. I now have his authority to do whatever I want, which means I will not have to take anyone else into my confidence. I cannot trust anyone else, so I had to play hardball with the one man in authority that I can trust.'

Both Malfoys regarded him with a look of respect, but Harry turned away once again. He did not look up until the door opened and Kingsley entered.

'Lucius? Narcissa? You are free to leave. Harry must see Draco alone for the moment. I'm afraid that there are a lot of people downstairs. Harry's return seems to have attracted half of the people in our world to the Ministry this morning. It might be a bit of an ordeal for you to get through the throng. Harry can join you at Malfoy Manor later.'

He waited until the two Malfoys had departed before turning to Harry, an awkward expression on his face.

'Harry? My secretary tells me that Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger are here. They have asked to see you.'

_Damn!_ thought Harry. He had known that they would want to see him, but he did not want to face them right now. In fact, he did not want to see them, period.

'Can you have someone tell them that I have left? I can floo down to the holding cells.'

Kingsley nodded; a sympathetic look on his face. 'Harry? Can I speak plainly to you?'

'Of course.'

'I don't know where you have been these months, nor do I know what you have being doing. But I do know that you have changed. Ginny and Hermione care a great deal about you. So do I. Do not shut us out. Please.'

Harry closed his eyes. He did not need this right now. He temporised. 'I just don't feel like seeing them right now. I have enough on my plate with the case. I don't need the distraction.' He looked directly at the Minister. 'I'm sorry, Kingsley. I don't know what you were expecting but I have changed. I am not the man I was. Things…have not been easy for me – I need time.'

Kingsley nodded. 'I understand, Harry. But I want you to know; you can come to see me about anything. My door will always be open.'

_Shit,_ thought Harry. He didn't need this. Shouts, threats or attacks he could handle. But Kingsley's common decency and concern would be his undoing.

'Thanks, Kingsley. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry for speaking so roughly. You didn't ask for this.'

'That's OK, Harry. Don't worry about it. Now, come on. We can go down to the cells together. Give me a minute; I'll have Susan tell them you have already left.'

Harry nodded his gratitude. 'Thanks, Kingsley.'

Draco Malfoy sat in his holding cell and considered his position. His relief at the adjournment of the trial had finally disappeared, being replaced by the returning sense of dread that had plagued him since his arrest. While the postponement of his trial by seven days was undoubtedly a good thing, he reckoned that it might be a case of simply delaying the inevitable. Unless Potter found something, of course.

_Potter._

He still could not get his head round the fact that Potter was going to be working to clear his name. How his mother had managed to track him down – never mind persuade him to return – was something that was beyond his comprehension. That Potter had agreed to investigate on his behalf was a final twist that his brain refused to acknowledge. _Why was he doing this?_

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Draco heard a commotion outside his cell door. He had a good idea who this was and was not surprised when the door swung open and Harry Potter – his enemy for so many years – stood before him. The door was shut behind him, leaving only the two men alone in the fetid cell. They regarded each other for a long moment in silence before Harry smiled. A smile that did not reach his eyes, Draco noticed.

'Well, well, well,' began Harry. 'You've really gone and done it now, Malfoy. Of all the piles of shit you have been in, this one tops them all.'

Draco flushed. 'Not funny, Potter. This is serious!'

'I know it's serious. But I have to confess; it amuses me too.'

'Is this why you are here? To gloat?'

Harry shrugged. 'Who knows? Perhaps I just have a soft spot for bastards. It won't be the first time that I've saved your scrawny arse, will it? This is becoming something of a habit. I didn't realise you found being rescued by me so…invigorating. I should warn you; I don't swing that way, sweetie.' He blew Draco a kiss.

Draco stood, his hands balled into fists. I didn't ask for your help, _Potter_,' he spat. 'This is my mother's doing. You can go to hell for all I care.'

'I probably will, eventually,' replied Harry airily. 'But when I get there, I'll have plenty of company. Not you though; your soul seemingly belongs to someone else.'

'Fuck you!' snarled Draco. 'Why don't you just leave?'

Harry blinked at the words, a stark reminder of the words spoken by Hermione all those months ago. His face hardened. 'Leave? Of course. I will go right now. I'll tell the judge he can restart the trial. I'm sure the Dementors will be delighted.' Harry watched his words strike home like hammer blows. 'I'm your last chance, ferret. No one else will touch the Malfoys with a barge pole. So sit the fuck down and tell me what happened.'

Draco did as he was bidden. Defeated, he slumped onto his bed and told Potter what he knew. This didn't amount to much.

'So you remember nothing at all?' asked Harry, once Draco had related the events of that morning.

'Not a thing. I might have murdered Chang for all I know. I don't remember a thing.'

'What's the last thing you do remember?'

'I'm fed up repeating myself. I have explained this to everyone already,' replied Draco.

'Now explain it to me.'

Draco sighed. 'I was at home the previous day. I had just finished my lunch when I heard a knock at the front door.'

'Who was it?'

'I don't remember. The knock is the last thing I can recall.'

'What did you do that morning?'

Draco flushed. 'Nothing. I was not long out of bed. I had been out the night before and didn't get home until very late.'

'Who were you out with?'

'Just some friends. I left them about three and went home. Alone. It's all in the reports. I really do not remember anything.'

'Had you been in contact with Cho at all?'

'No. I hadn't seen her since we left school. You have no idea how surprised I was when I discovered her in my bed that morning. I have no idea how she got there.'

Harry nodded distractedly. That was the one thing that really didn't add up. Draco Malfoy was emphatically not Cho Chang's type and – while he could not claim to know her well – he did not think she was the type to have a casual one night stand either. This was a lead worth pursuing, he realised. _Why Cho?_

'What happened after that?'

'It was all so fast. I had just discovered that she was dead when a squad of Aurors burst in. I don't really remember much else.'

'So soon? The Aurors arrived so soon? How did they know?'

'No idea. You will have to ask them.'

'I will,' replied Harry, grimly. 'Believe me; I will.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'I want to try something with you, Draco, if you permit me.' He ignored the astonished look Malfoy flashed him at being addressed by his given name. He regretted antagonising the man, for what he needed to do now would require Draco's full co-operation. It was just that old habits die hard, he realised.

'What?' Draco replied guardedly.

'It seems obvious to me that some type of memory charm has been placed upon you. I want to try some legilimancy to see if I can break through.'

Draco sighed. 'You're not the only one to think of that. The Ministry already swept me for charms – they found nothing.'

Harry smiled. 'I'm not the Ministry. I just want a look. Did they try legilimancy?'

'No – they didn't think it necessary. They think I am lying.'

'They would. Well, I want you to let me try. Don't worry; I won't be prying into your sordid little secrets,' he added.

Draco rewarded this comment with a stony look. Finally he nodded his submission. 'Fair enough. It's probably a waste of time, but it's not as if I have anything else to do, is it?'

Harry nodded, and sat down on the bed next to his erstwhile enemy. 'Now it's important that you just relax. Open your mind to me as much as you can. I'm not an expert at this, but if you allow me access, I should be able to do this. You have to lower your guard as much as possible or this wont work. Let's see what I can find.'

Placing his hands on Malfoy's temples, Harry shut his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. What he had told Draco was true; he was no expert at this form of magic but he had picked up a few things at the Auror academy and he had learned a long time ago that this sort of thing was made easier when full co-operation was offered. Like a lot of his magic, Harry found that he could achieve great things if he put his mind to it. Right now was one of those times.

At first he encountered some resistance but soon felt Draco lower his guard and he found himself able to cut his way through. It was just as the man had said; he saw Draco eating his lunch and then heard the knock at the door and then…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. Just a white, vast emptiness. Second after second of nothing whatsoever. Draco Malfoy's mind was a vacuum; a blank void.

And then there was something. Just before the images of Draco waking up that fateful morning began to materialise there was the merest flash; the briefest hint of a presence that flew by so fast that Harry nearly missed it. He let go of Draco and stood up abruptly before beginning to pace the room.

Draco followed his movements for a moment. 'What is it?' he finally asked.

Harry stopped pacing. 'Who was the elf?' he asked urgently.

Draco looked astounded. 'Elf? What elf? What the fuck are you talking about?'

'There was a house elf in your thoughts – just for a fraction of a second. It appeared right before your memory returned.'

Draco looked nonplussed. He strained his mind but drew a complete blank. 'I don't know,' he finally answered. 'I can't remember!'

Harry wasn't listening – he expected nothing less. His mind was working furiously as he considered the implications of his discovery.

'What did the Ministry say after testing you for spells? What were their exact words?'

Draco looked up, curiosity written all over his face. 'They said there was no evidence of wand work; that I had not been cursed.'

Harry nodded as if expecting the answer. 'There wouldn't be. Elves don't use wands. We don't fully understand their magic and so we have never given it the attention it deserves. Most people don't consider them worthy of study, never mind criminal investigation. It would never occur to Dawlish to look for elf magic.' He looked grim. 'Whoever has done this to you is a very clever bastard.'

'You mean you believe I am innocent? You can get me off?'

Harry laughed bitterly. 'Yes; I believe you. But this is not enough to prove your innocence. They will claim that I planted the memory myself. No; in order to prove your innocence, we will have to find that elf. Do you know of any?'

'Apart from the one you freed? No; not personally. Only the ones that remain at the Manor. I don't pay any attention to other people's elves. I mean; you don't pay attention to tools, do you? Why would I remember an elf?'

Harry shook his head. 'That elf I freed died to save my life, Malfoy,' he snapped. 'And don't let Hermione hear you speak like that. The Dementors will be the least of your worries if she hears you...' He stopped himself. _Why did I say that?_

'That's right,' said Draco, ignoring Harry's abrupt halt. 'She works to free the damn things, doesn't she? Isn't she the head of the DMC?'

'She is,' replied Harry evenly, the realisation hitting him like a slap in the face. _Oh, shit. She is, too. I'm going to have to speak to her. Shit._ He shook his head.

'Is there anything else you think I need to know?' he asked.

Draco considered the question. 'Not right now. I will let you know if I think of anything.'

'OK,' said Harry. 'I think it would be for the best if we keep this little discovery between ourselves for the moment. Tell no one; I don't know who we can trust. If your enemies think we have a lead, they will do everything in their power to thwart us. In the meantime, I want you consider what you do remember, especially anything that has happened to you in the past few weeks.' He stood to leave, making for the door and banging hard on it to indicate he was finished. As he waited for it to open, he turned to his onetime enemy.

'For what it's worth, Draco; I believe you are innocent. Someone has set you up and I intend to find out who it is. I'll be going over the general aspects of the case today and by tomorrow morning I will have read the initial reports. I will be back tomorrow to speak to you further.' He turned as the door opened and exited the cell, leaving an astonished Draco Malfoy to consider the turn of events that had led to Harry Potter becoming an ally.

Hermione Granger sat in the kitchen of the Burrow and tried to hide her frustration as she listened to the hubbub that surrounded her. Just like in the old days, the Burrow had once again had become something of a headquarters as just about everyone that cared about Harry had gravitated to the Weasley home in the search for news. It seemed as if they all expected Harry to show up in person.

She and Ginny had headed straight here from the Ministry to see if Molly and Arthur had heard the news but they had been beaten to the punch. George, Bill, Fleur and Charlie had all arrived before them and even Percy had turned up to see if he could find out anything. When Minerva and Hagrid had arrived, Hermione began to suspect that no one had a clue as to what Harry would do next. She had noticed the sympathetic glances cast towards Ginny, but what had really disconcerted her were the questioning looks directed at her. It was as if they all expected her to know what he was doing.

'So, did you actually see him at the Ministry, dear?' asked Minerva. Hermione sighed; she had already answered this question to three different people.

'No, Minerva. Susan Bones told us that we had just missed him. Apparently he slipped out quietly by another exit to avoid the crowd. We came straight here after that.'

Minerva smiled knowingly. 'He never did like the attention, did he?'

'No; and after what happened to him the last time he was in that building, who can blame him?' she snapped. She noticed Minerva stiffen at these words and cursed herself inwardly. 'I'm sorry, Minerva; you didn't deserve that. This has unsettled me. I have waited so long for news and now this happens. I always thought he would come to see me – I mean Ginny and me – first if he ever returned. Not Narcissa bloody Malfoy,' she added bitterly.

'Who knows what Harry is going through,' said Minerva. 'He has never had his troubles to seek and I think the events of last summer unsettled him considerably. He blames himself for Ron's death, I think.'

'I know he does, the bloody idiot!' she exclaimed. She did not notice that everyone had turned to her raised voice as she let out the hurt and anger she was feeling. 'Always playing the bloody martyr is our Harry. It's not enough for him to grieve; no, he has to shoulder the blame too!' Tears of frustration were forming in her eyes as she spoke.

'Well, we can hardly blame him this time,' said Ginny in a small voice. 'I blamed him for Ron's death in public, remember? I didn't mean it; I was…overwrought. I have thought about little else since he left. I just want to tell him that it's not his fault.'

'Me too,' said Hermione. 'He needs to come home and "home" is not with the Malfoys. Why is he doing this?'

'Maybe it's his "saving people thing,"' said Ginny sadly. 'Even Malfoy,' she added.

Hermione reddened at the reminder of that _other_ time - in fifth year - when her words had cut Harry to the bone. She made to reply but the words stopped in her throat as she turned to the sound of tapping at the window. It was an owl, but not one she recognised.

Arthur leaned across and opened the window, allowing access to the brown barn owl that carried a message. The bird cast a glance around the room before settling on the worktop and extending a talon. Arthur removed the letter and scanned the name on the envelope.

'It's for you, Hermione,' he said simply, crossing the room and handing it to her. Curious, she tore it open immediately. She lurched forward as she recognised the writing.

'It's from Harry!' she exclaimed and, immediately, all attention on the room was on her, although she was oblivious as she began to read.

_Hermione,_

_As you have probably heard by now, I have had to show my face in your world once again. I did not want to, but I have undertaken to help Draco in proving his innocence. _

_I would like to meet with you – alone - to discuss something. If you agree, please go to the café we fled to the day of Bill and Fleur's wedding. You know where it is and I am fairy certain no one else does. It was just the three of us there that day, after all._

_If this is acceptable to you, please go this evening at seven thirty. I will be waiting._

_Harry_

She re-read the letter again, looking for some sign of intimacy and friendship. _Nothing_. Not even the merest hint of their friendship; the close relationship they once enjoyed. There was only the brief reference to "the three of us." Now there was only two. She remained sitting in silence, her head down, and only reacted when she heard Minerva clear her throat loudly. She looked up into the questioning eyes of her former teacher.

'This may be none of my business, dear; but would you care to tell us what he has to say?'

'He wants to meet,' she replied. 'Tonight at seven thirty.'

'That's fantastic!' exclaimed Ginny. 'I can't wait to see him! I knew he would come back here.'

'He's not coming to the Burrow. He wants to see me alone, Ginny,' said Hermione, quietly. She watched the impact of these words strike her friend like a physical blow.

'Alone? Why would he want that?'

'I have no idea. Here; see for yourself,' she added, handing the letter over.

Hermione watched as her friend devoured the words, with Minerva reading the letter over her shoulder. Her former teacher finished first for she suddenly looked up, an expression of deep concern on her face.

'Oh, dear. This does not look promising at all. What does he mean by "Your world"? What has been done to him?'

Hermione suppressed the tears that threatened to form at these words. She knew exactly what Minerva meant, for she knew exactly what had been done to him. He'd had his soul ripped out from within as if by a Dementor. The coldness of his letter proclaimed this fact to the world.

She closed her eyes. _Oh, Harry._

'I'm coming too!' exclaimed Ginny fiercely. 'I don't care what he says! We're engaged after all and….' she stopped, unable to continue as the tears began to fall. Molly consoled her with a hug.

'I'm sorry, Ginny. I don't know why he wants to see me alone. He doesn't say in his letter. He doesn't say anything.'

'Where is it he wants to meet you?' asked Arthur.

Hermione shook her head. 'I can't say. Only the two of us know. We went there once; the three of us.'

Arthur nodded his understanding and felt his own pang of grief at the allusion to Ron. 'Fair enough, Hermione. Go to him then. And be sure to tell him how much we love him.

Hermione nodded her understanding but her mind was dwelling elsewhere. She was beginning to wonder if words of love meant anything to Harry Potter anymore.


	5. Strangers

**Strangers**

Harry was nervous as he sat in the same booth he, Ron and Hermione had escaped to all those years ago. The café hadn't changed; it retained the same sense of seediness and the perceptible patina of grease that seemed to lie everywhere. He did not know why he had suggested to Hermione that they meet here; the whole scene brought back memories that were still raw.

It was because there _had_ been three of them the last time, he knew. All dressed up and nowhere to go he remembered. They had been walking down Tottenham Court Road in their wedding finery and he remembered feeling some alarm at their predicament. That had been until Hermione had informed them that she had everything they needed shrunk into a single bag. He smiled at the memory; _trust Hermione to think of everything._

He looked up as the bell above the door gave a short tinkle and there she was. He felt his chest constrict as he set eyes on her for the first time in nearly a year and it took all of his willpower not to rush over and embrace her. She looked fantastic, he saw. He had always considered her pretty, but since leaving Hogwarts she had blossomed into a beautiful, sensual young woman. _Ron had been a lucky guy._ As he watched her cast her glance around the room, he noticed the subtle changes in her from last year. She looked tired and her face was lined; clear evidence of just how difficult things had been for her. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. _He had to remain aloof_, he told himself. He had hurt her so much; he didn't want to be a further burden. Indeed, it was only out of dire necessity that he had suggested they meet. He made sure to keep his guard up as he stood to greet her.

And was taken aback completely at her reaction.

'Oh, Harry,' sobbed Hermione as she thrust her arms around him and buried her head into his chest, her tears falling freely. He didn't know how to react to this and as a result he merely stood straight as a ramrod, his arms by his sides as Hermione held him tight. They stood like that for some time before she finally released him and looked directly into his eyes. He found himself averting his gaze, unable to meet her scrutiny. She sensed his discomfort and turned her face away, wiping her eyes as she did so.

'Thanks for coming,' said Harry, formally. A long awkward silence developed as they stood; neither knowing what to say next. It was as if they were two strangers thrust together for the first time and he found the experience very disconcerting. _This was Hermione, for God's sake!_ He cleared his throat.

'Would you mind if we go for a walk? I thought it would be a good idea to come here but…' He left the rest unsaid but Hermione knew what he was thinking. Ron's memory was hanging over this place like a cloud. She nodded her agreement, unsure as to how to approach this remote, stiff Harry. The one glance she'd had into his eyes told the story and she was extremely disconcerted by the complete absence of life in her friend.

'Sure,' she replied, almost too brightly. 'Let's go.' She offered him her hand but he pretended not to have noticed as he stepped past her to open the door and hold it for her. Hermione tried not to let her dismay at this little rejection show as she passed him and stepped back onto Tottenham Court Road. The two of them began walking about a yard apart.

'I brought you this,' said Hermione, as she removed Harry's wand from her pocket. He looked at it and she thought she saw a brief flicker of disgust on his features. He took it tentatively and turned it over in his hands.

'I thought you would need it,' she added.

'Thank you,' he replied in a strange voice. It had not occurred to him that she might bring it; this symbol of the life he had rejected. Taking it back now was a symbol of a different sort, he realised; a symbol that the magical world had reclaimed him. He had to resist a sudden urge to snap it in two. _Maybe later; I might need it for a few days. _With a sigh he placed it in his pocket.

'So where have you been?' asked Hermione tentatively after another period of silence.

Harry seemed to consider the question. 'I'd rather not say if you don't mind. It's not important right now.' He walked on and had travelled a few steps before he realised that Hermione had stopped walking. He turned and saw to his dismay that she was crying again. 'What?' he asked genuinely perplexed at her behaviour.

In response, Hermione marched towards him, her brown eyes now blazing, despite her tears.

_Whack!_

Harry reeled from the blow to his face but quickly righted himself and stared impassively back at her. He ignored the shocked looks from the passers-by who had witnessed the scene and watched dispassionately as Hermione worked herself up into a rage.

'What do you mean "it's not important?" How dare you! I have been worried sick about you and you have the nerve to tell me it's not important? I'm of a mind to whack you again, Harry James Potter!'

'Go ahead. It's no more than I deserve. Take your best shot; it might make you feel better.'

Hermione was sorely tempted to take him up on his offer but noticed a droplet of blood leak out from the side of his mouth. She really had caught him a good one, and the realisation that she had hurt her friend checked her anger. What made it worse was the fact that Harry just stood there and took it like a dumb animal. He really did believe that he deserved it. She closed her eyes in frustration.

'Harry,' she began in a small voice, 'Ron's death wasn't your fault.'

Harry's face turned white at the words, but he recovered enough to reply. 'Of course it was my fault. I was there, remember? I could have stopped him, but I let him go. The Ministry agreed. So did you,' he added accusingly.

'Would it help if I told you I was sorry? That I didn't mean for you to leave?'

'Then why say it, Hermione?' he asked, and she cringed at the scorn in his voice as he uttered her name. 'You wanted me to leave, so I left. It was better for everyone that I did.'

She shook her head. 'Oh, Harry; don't ever think that. Is this why you have stayed away for so long? You thought we all blamed you? I didn't mean for you to leave for good; I just couldn't face you at that moment. I was trying to process events myself; it all happened so fast. I had just lost my fiancé, remember? I didn't have room for compassion for anyone else, and then Ginny went off on one. I didn't mean the words to come out the way they did. No one blames you, Harry. No one ever did.'

'I did,' he replied. 'I still do. It's why I had to go. It's why I will go again when this is over,' he added defiantly.

Hermione did not reply to this immediately and concealed her alarm at the words. He was here now and she knew that - if given the chance – she could persuade him otherwise. She just needed an opening to reach in and pull him back from his personal place of darkness. Instead of replying to his comment, she removed a hankie from her pocket and leaned forward to wipe the blood from his face. He flinched at her touch, but allowed himself to be ministered.

'The Harry Potter I knew wouldn't wallow for so long in self pity,' she said softly as she dabbed at his mouth. She paused in her minstrations and looked him straight in the eye. 'That's not my Harry.'

'The Harry Potter you knew is gone,' he replied, meeting her gaze. Her look disconcerted him; she seemed to be looking _into _him, as if evaluating his very being and it made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

'Besides;' he continued in order to avert her gaze, 'I never was "your Harry,"' he added brutally.

He could have cut his tongue out of his mouth for saying this as he watched Hermione's expression crumple at the words. Her face turned white and her eyes widened in shock. An overwhelming expression of regret and sorrow flashed on her features before she turned her back to him and began walking away quickly, her arms folded, her head down. She continued like this for a few yards before breaking into a shambling run, her arms still hugging her sides. Harry watched her leave and felt he had gone as low as it was possible to go. Turning his gaze to the heavens for a moment, he mentally berated himself for his crassness. _Why did I say that?_ _Why is it I always hurt those that matter most to me?_

'Hermione! Come back!' he exclaimed as he began to run after her. He caught up with her as she reached the street corner and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her round to face him. For a brief moment they stared into each other's eyes, faces only inches apart. Around them, the London traffic thundered past, but both were oblivious to their surroundings.

'I didn't mean that,' he blurted, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs in a vain attempt to stem the flood of tears that had begun to flow from her eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Hermione; I really didn't mean that. If anyone can lay claim to me, it's you. It always has been you. I've hurt you enough; I didn't ask you here to hurt you some more. I'm just being a stupid bastard. _Again_. I'm so sorry. Forgive me? Please?' he begged.

Hermione nodded her acceptance of his apology and through the blur of her tears saw the one thing she had been looking for since she had first set eyes on him again.

_Emotion_.

He really was sorry; she had glimpsed the remorse in his eyes before the shutter had fallen once again, and his tone was that of a lost child. _He is in so much pain; so lonely and afraid_, she thought. But that one brief flash of genuine, unrepressed feeling was enough to convince her that he was not beyond redemption. He had wounded her deeply with his words – she had felt them like a knife in the heart - but his apology more than made up for his brutality. He had given her the one thing she had been seeking since meeting this new, cold Harry. _Hope_. Hope that she might be able to rekindle the fire in his eyes once more. She wiped her eyes and held out her hand to him once again, knowing fine well that he would not refuse her now. She felt no guilt for using the situation to her advantage. _He never could handle a crying woman._

Harry considered the offered hand for a long moment before reaching out his own and clasping it. He took it as a drowning man would clasp at a lifeline and she gave his fingers a soft squeeze of reassurance. In silence, they continued their walk hand in hand, each processing what had just happened. It was some time before either of them spoke.

'Harry? Can I ask you something?' began Hermione, keen to put the last few minutes behind them for the moment. 'Do you intend seeing anyone else? I know that Ginny was very upset when you asked to see me alone. Not that I'm blaming you for that,' she added hastily.

Harry considered her question. 'I don't know. I don't know if I could face them after what happened.'

'They don't blame you Harry. Arthur asked me to pass on his love.' She saw him grimace at this, almost as if the sentiment disgusted him. 'I know that Ginny feels the same,' she added. 'She's missed you.'

He shrugged. 'Ginny and I are over,' he said. 'I know she blames me. She made that perfectly clear.'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, she doesn't. She was upset, Harry. She didn't mean it.'

'But she said it. Do you honestly think we could have a future with that hanging over us? Every time we argued or fought, it would be right there, like a presence in the room.' He shook his head. 'There's absolutely no chance of us ever getting together again. Not a fucking chance in hell.' His tone was harsh.

Hermione did not know how to react to the profanity, or the sentiment behind the words. Harry and Ginny were over; there was no doubt about that. She was saddened for her red-haired friend, but right now her priority was the broken man walking hand in hand with her. She decided to change tack.

'Harry? If you intend leaving again after Draco's case is over, why did you return? Why come back for the Malfoys?' She unsuccessfully tried to keep the bitterness from creeping into her tone.

Harry noticed the reproof in her voice and took what seemed like an age before replying. 'It's hard to explain.'

'Try me.'

He took a deep breath. 'Narcissa said something to me that got me thinking. She believes Draco to be innocent and said that if this was true then he must have been framed.'

'That makes sense, but there must be something else.'

'There is. She said that if someone was deliberately attacking her family for betraying Voldemort, then perhaps the same person was responsible for Ron's death.'

Silence greeted these words for a long moment.

'That's a bit of a leap, Harry,' Hermione finally replied. 'There is no reason to think that the two cases are connected. The Ministry still thinks it was the escaped Death Eaters that killed Ron.'

'I know; but there exists the possibility that someone is behind all this, you have to concede that? Besides, it occurred to me that we never did find out for sure who killed Ron. What if it was someone else? The escapees might be a red herring.' He paused, considering what to say next. When he spoke, his words were said so quietly that Hermione had to strain to hear them. 'While I should never have let him enter the building, it doesn't explain the fact that someone set that trap. It may have been my fault, but I didn't mean to kill him.' His tone hardened. 'Someone else did though.'

Hermione chose her next words carefully. 'Has it occurred to you that Ron wasn't the target?'

Harry laughed bitterly. 'Oh, yes. I realised that straight away. They were after me, whoever they are. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about that. Poor Ron finally paid the price for being my friend. Everyone does, eventually,' he added bitterly

Hermione didn't know how to respond to this, finally realising the true reason for his self imposed suffering. He was afraid; afraid for those he loved and afraid of being hurt again. Ginny had been correct; it _was_ his "saving people thing." She couldn't deal with that right now though – it was too much to take in.

'So that's why you returned? Because you think the cases are connected?' she asked.

'Not exactly. If Draco has been framed, then a conspiracy exists; one that goes very high up. That means that someone in the Auror department is probably involved too. This case allows me access to the Auror files. _All_ the Auror files,' he added meaningfully. 'I just want to make amends. I know I can't bring Ron back, but if I could find out who it was that killed him, then I could maybe bring some peace to Arthur and Molly. And to you,' he added softly.

Hermione took some time to digest this. His reasons for staying away were pretty much what she thought they would be. It gave her no pleasure to realise that she had been correct in her assumptions for the man holding her hand at the moment was a shadow of the man he had once been. She had no idea how to go about changing this and now wasn't the time to try. Besides, there was one other thing bothering her right now.

'Harry? How did Narcissa find you? I have been trying for months.'

Harry looked amused for a moment. 'I know – I saw your advert.' He saw the hurt expression in her eyes but ignored it. 'It was Andromeda. Narcissa knew that I would never cut Teddy out of my life and figured that Andromeda would be in contact with me. She was right,' he added, admiration in his voice.

'Andromeda? But she was one of the first people I spoke to after you had gone! How could she have lied to me? And Teddy! He never said a word!' Hermione was indignant.

'Because I asked her to tell no one,' replied Harry. 'Besides, how long after I had gone did you think to speak to her?'

'About two weeks after you left. Why?'

'Because I never got in touch with her for nearly a month.' Harry sounded amused. 'Andromeda never lied; she really didn't know where I was when you asked her. You were a victim of your own cleverness, Hermione. You worked it out too soon.' His tone was a mixture of amusement and admiration. _She really does have me figured out._

The explanation seemed to mollify Hermione, who cursed herself for not returning to Andromeda's. With a sigh, she decided to change tack. 'So why did you want to see me, Harry?' she asked, the bitterness creeping into in her tone once again. 'I had hoped it was because we are friends, but it's clear you didn't come back for me, so why?'

It pained him to hear her speak like this, but it was necessary.

'I need your help,' he said simply.

'Help? To do what?'

'To find an elf.'

She stopped walking and looked at him in astonishment for a moment, wondering what the hell he was talking about. He seemed to notice her confusion.

'It's a long story. Let me explain.'

She took his hand again and for the next few minutes as they walked, he related to her what he had discovered so far. It occurred to him that he had told Draco to trust no one, but he reasoned that Hermione didn't count. He knew that despite everything that had happened, he could still trust her with his life if need be.

'So you need help to find an elf?' she asked, once he had finished. Harry suppressed the smile that threatened to form at the words. Despite the situation, she was clearly intrigued by the problem.

'Yeah; I don't know where to begin. I thought it would be a good idea if you could check your records for anything unusual.'

'Such as?'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know. Missing elves? Mistreated? Previous crimes, perhaps? Anything you think out of the ordinary, really. I know you get on well with them; perhaps you might hear something on their grapevine.'

She considered his request for a long moment, aware that Harry seemed to become more animated when considering the case. She realised that this gave her an opportunity to remain in contact with him. She might never see him again if she refused.

Harry mistook her silence for refusal. 'Hermione? If I can't find anything then Draco is in big trouble. I know he's an arse but I do not think he is guilty. I don't like the idea of anyone receiving the Kiss, never mind an innocent man. Wont you help? Please?'

Hermione shook her head. 'I'm not going to help you for the sake of Draco Malfoy.' She saw the disappointment on his face, so continued. 'I'm going to do it because _you_ have asked me to, Harry,' she added softly. She was reaching out to him, but saw him frown, almost in disapproval.

'But, Hermione, this isn't about me; it's about Draco.'

She stopped walking and turned to face him, suddenly furious with him and his attitude of self reproach. Eleven months of anxiety, grief and frustration suddenly burst forth and Harry Potter found himself right in the firing line.

'Damn you, Harry! Not another word of reproach! No more self pity!' she exclaimed, jabbing his chest with her finger as she spoke and ignoring the sudden flash of surprise on his features. 'As far as _our_ world is concerned,' continued Hermione, _really_ getting up a head of steam now, 'we're both Muggleborns; we are outsiders and have no magical family to speak of. You are all I have left and I am all you've got, so we are going to stick together whether you like it or not!'

She had not noticed that Harry had hastily retreated from the ball of fury that jabbed at him and was now backed up against a wall, unable to escape. Hermione ranted on, oblivious to his predicament.

'Ron was taken from me; there is no way on God's Earth that I am going to let you go too. You can wallow in self pity all you want because I'm not letting go. Not again. I'm going to help you with this damn case and then I am going to sort you out and _you_ have no say in the matter; none at all. I'm not giving up on you, Harry. You may think you can run from the Magical World, but you can't run from me, Harry James Potter. I will not allow it. I will see you in my office at half past one tomorrow and you had better be there because if I have to come after you, there will be hell to pay!'

With her sermon delivered, Hermione turned on her heels and stormed off, leaving an astonished Harry standing alone, his back against the wall and breathing deeply.

_Fucking hell…_

'So how is he?' asked Ginny as she handed her friend a glass of wine. Hermione had returned to the Burrow after parting from Harry and her mind was still churning. She had expected the place to be empty, but no one had gone home; the kitchen was as full as it had been when she had left to meet Harry. She took the offered glass with a trembling hand and took a sip of wine as she considered Ginny's question.

'Alone. Afraid. I think he's cracking up, truth be told.' She looked at the others. 'He's bottling everything up. He still blames himself for Ron's death and he thinks that anyone he gets close to will be hurt. He's very brittle and I fear that he is close to breaking.' She put her head in her hands. 'He won't let me in. He won't let anyone in,' she added in frustration.

'Maybe he will come round once he sees all of his friends again?' suggested Minerva.

Hermione shook her head. 'No; he's as cold as ice. He has no feeling; it's as if he's had his soul ripped out. It hurt to see him like that. It was Harry, but it wasn't, if you know what I mean. He's not the same person.'

'Who is?' asked Arthur. 'We have all had to deal with events in our own way. Don't give up on him, Hermione.' His voice was thick as he considered what he'd had to deal with. Losing two sons was enough to change any man.

'I don't intend to, but it's hard. He's had so much happen to him.' She looked at Arthur. 'At first, I missed Ron so much it physically hurt. I still think of him every day, but I have started to get over him. I will always miss him, but I have done my grieving for him. Harry hasn't.' She sat back, a wistful expression on her face. 'He was so happy, so full of hope before everything happened. I think he had finally put Voldemort behind him. Ron told me that for the first time he thought Harry was looking forward to the future.' She smiled sadly. 'It must have been true for Ron to notice it. But he had that snatched from him. Just when he thought he had the life he wanted, it was snatched from him. I think he's afraid to try again.'

'Maybe I should try?' suggested Ginny. 'We were engaged – technically we still are,' she added with a grim smile. 'He never broke it off – he just left,' she added in response to the raised eyebrows. 'I suppose I know him better than anyone; maybe I should have a go.'

Hermione said nothing in response to Ginny, but she felt a touch of resentment at her assertion. _How dare she presume so much!_ Hermione was not sure if Harry could ever be redeemed but she was absolutely certain on one simple fact; she knew Harry Potter better than anyone alive. She knew him better than he knew himself.

And she knew Ginny had no chance at getting through to him, but she said nothing. She had not told her of Harry's words, deciding that was for Harry to tell. Instead, she let her mind ponder on her own parting words to him. She had not meant to lose her temper, but his aloofness and icy demeanour had irritated her more than she thought possible. She was worried now; what if he did run off again? She closed her eyes and considered what she had done. Speaking to him the way she had could finally tip him over the edge.

_Well, too late for regrets._

She considered Harry's request that she find a specific house elf. She could scarcely believe it when he told her what he had discovered in Malfoy's mind; a house elf involved in a brutal murder? It didn't add up.

But then a lot of things didn't add up in this case. She just hoped Harry wasn't getting in over his head. He _would_ come to see her tomorrow, she reasoned. _He would need the help_. At least, she hoped that was the case anyway. There was no predicting what this Harry would do. Apparently he was staying at Malfoy Manor tonight – of all places - and she still could not get her head round the sudden shift in allegiances that had occurred. _Potter and Malfoy? Who'd have thought it?_

Sighing, she took a sip of her wine and wondered if she would ever be able to get her friend back. _One day at a time_, she thought.

Harry Potter sat in a large, high backed leather armchair in front of a roaring log fire and took a sip from the glass of brandy that Narcissa had provided him with after dinner. He had elected to stay at Malfoy Manor after realising that it was probably the best location under the circumstances. The flat he once shared with Ginny was not an option – for all he knew she still lived there. The other alternatives – the Burrow or Hermione's flat – were not feasible at the minute either; and he certainly was not prepared to return to Grimmauld Place. Besides; he had requested that Dawlish meet him here at nine tomorrow morning. It was probably best that he stay the night.

Dinner had been hugely amusing and it occurred to him that he only seemed to find humour in other people's discomfort these days. Narcissa could not have been a better hostess, but Lucius had looked as if he was going to choke on the roast venison they had enjoyed. The elder Malfoy had declined to join him in a brandy to no one's surprise. In fact, Lucius had not said a word to him during the meal. He had barely been able to cast a glance in Harry's direction.

Now, as he mulled over what he had learned today, Harry found his mind distracted by thoughts of Hermione.

_Damn her!_ She knew exactly what buttons to push in order to get him to open up and he'd surprised himself by forgetting just how much he was willing to do for her. When he had seen the look of hurt on her face when he'd spoken so brutally to her, he'd felt his defences crumble. He never could bear to see her in distress.

She had been correct though. He _was_ her Harry. He always had been, even when they were kids – even when she had been engaged to Ron. She was his best friend. While it was true that Ron had been his best _mate_, there was no denying the fact that Hermione Granger was the friend he could depend on absolutely – for anything. She had never let him down; not once. Even when she questioned his decision to go to the Ministry in fifth year she had still accompanied him, despite her reservations. In fourth year, she alone in the entire school had stuck by him. And when Ron had abandoned him during the search for the Horcruxes, she had remained with him despite the yearnings of her heart. She must have wanted to be with Ron but nevertheless had stayed despite the fact that his leadership up to that point had been decidedly lacking, to say the least. There was a subtle difference between one's best friend and best mate, but the difference existed – at least in his own mind. A best friend did not walk out when things got tough whereas a best mate might.

_Walk out._ Just as he had done after Ron had died. He closed his eyes, feeling the guilt overwhelm him. She had needed him and he had not been there for her. It was just one more thing to add to the list of things he would never forgive himself for. Hermione might not blame him for Ron's death, but he did and always would. Even now, despite his cowardice, she was willing to help him. He knew she had not agreed to assist for the sake of Draco Malfoy; no, he knew it was because he had asked her to. She would do anything for him and he was aware that he would do anything for her – even now. He just hoped she did not ask him to do something that would finally break him. He was vaguely aware that he might be falling to pieces and that was yet another reason for remaining aloof. When he finally did go into meltdown, he did not want Hermione anywhere near him in case she caught some of the shrapnel that was sure to fly when he came apart.

He didn't know whether to see her tomorrow. He had actually forgotten what Hermione Granger could be like once she had up a full head of steam. She had spoken to him as only a best friend could; with a frankness and brutality that had astonished him.

_I'm not giving up on you, Harry._

She never had been a quitter, he knew, but perhaps he was a challenge too far. He put his glass down and held his head in his hands.

_What happened to us_? he asked the night in despair. It was always worse at night. It was during darkness that the past came to haunt him. It was why he had been drinking so heavily; only through alcohol could he drive away the demons and sleep. Each new day, his body presented its bill and each day he paid it and carried on as before.

_But not tonight_, he told himself. He was resolved to get to the bottom of the Malfoy case and he knew that he could not afford to be anything less than totally focussed. This fine brandy would be the only solace he would have tonight; he wanted to be sober when he considered what to about Hermione tomorrow. As a result, he knew that later, he would have to face his demons alone.

_But face them I will_, he thought grimly.


	6. Preliminaries

**Preliminaries**

The following morning, Harry found himself in the plush study of Lucius Malfoy studying the rows and rows of books that filled the shelves on every wall in the room. He'd been woken by a house elf at eight after a very fitful night's sleep and he felt terrible. He'd tossed and turned for most of the night, his mind churning over the various aspects of the case.

And, of course, he'd been thinking of Hermione.

He'd actually come close to forgetting how much she meant to him. Despite his attempts to wall himself off from the world, she had almost effortlessly penetrated his defences. _She knows me too well_, he realised. He recalled her little sermon; the anger she had displayed had been real, but so too had the compassion and love behind it.

_I'm not giving up on you, Harry._

She had said this so simply and yet there was so much meaning behind the words. She never had given up on him and the question he now faced was whether or not he wanted to be saved. _I'll save that one for later._

He'd needed a few strong cups of coffee to get himself going and once he had felt ready to face the day, he had asked Narcissa for a private room to be made available in order to deal with Dawlish when he arrived. Narcissa hadn't hesitated, immediately offering the use of this fine study despite the vehement protestations of Lucius. He was beginning to like Narcissa, he realised. Anyone who could twist the tail of Lucius Malfoy with such effortless grace was OK in his book.

To kill time as he waited, he absent-mindedly plucked a book from the shelf and glanced at the title. _Purity and Power – A Study of Magical Bloodlines._ He stifled a laugh. Trust Lucius – this book was the _Who's Who?_ Of the Wizarding World and no doubt the elder Malfoy still believed such tosh about purity of blood. He shook his head as he flicked through the pages, noticing some familiar names and even coming across a section on the Potters. He spent a few minutes scanning his family tree, feeling a degree of sadness that he was the last in the line. As he neared the end of the book he discovered an entire chapter detailing the Weasley family and he took a few moments to study this too. The book was at least up to date, he realised, as he found the names of Arthur and Molly along with all of their children.

Including Ron.

Seeing his friend's name in black and white caught him unawares. The sadness he still felt whenever he thought about Ron suddenly reared up and Harry felt himself blinking furiously. Since leaving this world, he had done his best to put Ron from his mind but every so often he would receive a stark reminder of his friend. It could be a face in a crowd; a voice in a bar – it could be anything or nothing that triggered memories of happier times and he still had not come up with a successful method of countering this phenomenon. He missed Ron terribly; he had been more like a brother to him than a best mate. They had been through so much together; first at Hogwarts and then later when they both became trainee Aurors.

Harry shook his head. Now it was all gone; destroyed in a moment of fire and death. He and Ron had shared everything together – there had been no secrets between them and now he was gone.

He felt a sudden pang of guilt once again. There _had _been one secret between them; one he would take to his grave.

_The lie._

He turned suddenly in response to a knock on the study door and – flustered - he snapped shut the book and replaced it on the shelf. He made his way to stand in front of the large mahogany desk that dominated the centre of the room and composed himself. He wanted Dawlish on the back foot from the start.

'Enter!' he shouted. A few moments later, the door opened and John Dawlish struggled into the room, his hands full of files, folders and despatch boxes. Harry hid a smile. He had specifically asked that no one help Dawlish when he arrived. He wanted the bastard as uncomfortable as possible for what was to come. He regarded the man who had testified against him at Ron's hearing; the man who had pointed the finger at the "great" Harry Potter and had accused him of recklessness and insubordination. He felt the anger rise in his throat.

'Dawlish,' he said in curt greeting. 'I would like to say what a pleasure it is to see you, but we both know that I would be lying. Why don't you take a seat? We can reminisce about old times, perhaps? Like when Dumbledore made you look like a fool when I was in fifth year? Or how you hung me out to dry last year?'

He saw a flash of anger cross the Auror's face as he struggled to deposit his bundle on to the desk. _Excellent._

'Who do you think you are talking to, Potter? In case you have forgotten, I am still your superior officer. A law enforcement officer of my standing is not spoken to in such a manner.'

'"Of your standing?"' scoffed Harry. 'What you know about law enforcement I could write down on the back of a Chocolate Frog card, Dawlish. With a crayon. I don't have the time to massage your ego, so be a good boy; shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and answer my fucking questions.'

'I'll break you for that, you little shit. When I...

'Shut up, Dawlish. You know the rules here; you have to give me your full co-operation. Or do you want me to tell Kingsley that you are obstructing justice?'

Dawlish glared at him, but took his seat in stubborn silence, knowing Harry had the authority. Harry noticed his truculence and – sighing – he reached into his pocket and removed the note he had received from Kingsley. Wordlessly, he handed it over and watched as Dawlish began to read. It was not long before the Aurors' countenance reddened even further.

'You don't like these orders, do you?' asked Harry, quietly.

'No, Potter. I don't.'

Harry nodded. 'Dawlish, when I was at the Auror academy, I wasn't told that I had to like my orders; just that I had to obey them. So you are going to obey these orders you piece of shit and you are going to start by telling me how the fuck you knew Cho Chang was dead in Draco Malfoy's flat. You arrived less than a minute after he had discovered her body. How?'

Dawlish looked flustered for a moment. 'We had an anonymous tip off,' he answered in a clipped voice. His anger was obvious.

'_Another _anonymous tip off? Just like the day Ron Weasley got blown up? My, you are a lucky boy, Dawlish, to have all these good hearted citizens reporting crime anonymously. It warms the heart, it really does,' Harry said sarcastically. Then his face hardened and when he spoke next, his voice was like ice. 'Who took the call? What exactly did the source say and how the hell do you explain how someone anonymous came to know what was going inside Draco Malfoy's flat?'

Dawlish shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'It wasn't a call – it was a note. It arrived by post owl so we have no way of knowing who sent it.' He sighed. 'We think it might have been one of the neighbours, but we haven't run that down yet. He – we think it is a he – said that he heard screams and tried to find out what was going on. He says that he saw the whole thing through the window. To be honest, we haven't given it much thought – the tip off proved correct, didn't it?' he asked angrily.

Harry jotted down some notes. 'And the murder weapon?' he asked, without looking up.

'A kitchen knife. We found it at the scene; it had Malfoy's prints all over it,' Dawlish said smugly.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Well it would, wouldn't it? It _is _Malfoy's kitchen knife, after all. If his prints _were not_ on it then I would be suspicious. Did you speak to the neighbours?'

'No, we didn't think it necessary. There are some Muggles in the building too so we thought – that is Robards thought – that they could prove an unwelcome complication. The case was clear cut – we literally caught him red-handed. He was covered in her blood.'

'Robards was involved?' asked Harry, surprised at the information. It was a long time since Gawain Robards took a personal interest in a specific case. The head of the Auror Office tended to remain in the background; overseeing but not getting his hands dirty.

'Of course he was involved! A case this serious? You bet he was involved. This is a murder investigation involving a Malfoy and a Chang; not some petty case of purse snatching. He's left me to run it but he is keeping an eye on things.'

Harry made a note of this. He would need to speak to Robards too he realised. The list of tasks just kept on growing.

'What of the victim? Did anyone see them together that night?' he asked, getting back to business.

'No.'

Harry sighed. 'So what we have here is a murdered girl found in a man's bed with no motive; no named witnesses and the main suspect denying all knowledge? Pretty thin, Dawlish; even for you. I'm surprised the prosecution are so confident.'

Dawlish flushed at the rebuke. 'Draco Malfoy has denied nothing. He says he cannot remember. As to motive? Why, it's obvious that this is a crime of passion. Perhaps Malfoy was not getting his way with her and lost it? Only he can tell us and he isn't saying a word.'

'And you do not find it strange that he cannot remember? It would help his defence if he did simply deny it, but he hasn't done that. The memory loss doesn't trouble you?'

'Not at all; he's faking it. We swept both him and the room for traces of curses and found nothing. There was absolutely no evidence of a third party. His door had been locked from the inside – the key was still in the lock. I ran a trace for Apparition and came up blank. It's a closed case as far as I am concerned. The forensic evidence is more than sufficient for a conviction.'

Harry was silent for a long moment as he sat and stared stonily at the man who purported to be his superior. Unfortunately, Dawlish was correct; the physical evidence was overwhelming and more than outweighed the arguments he had put forth.

'Well thank you, Dawlish.' He noticed the confused look on the man's face and continued. 'Before I spoke to you I had my doubts that I would be able to secure Draco's freedom. Now that I have established just how shoddy this whole investigation has been conducted, I find myself a bit more hopeful of a successful outcome. That will be all,' he said, looking down at the papers on his desk. 'You can fuck off now.'

Dawlish leapt to his feet and levelled a finger at Harry. 'Now you listen here, you little runt,' he began angrily 'I don't care if you are…'

He stopped talking; stopped because Harry Potter had lifted his head from the papers on the desk and gazed straight into his eyes. Harry's face was expressionless but his eyes told a deeper truth. What Dawlish saw in those eyes frightened him to the bone. He glanced at his finger and then back at Harry, who continued to regard him in much the same way a lion might regard a wounded zebra. Dawlish lowered his finger and turned away in a great sweeping gesture before storming out of the room.

Harry smiled at his retreating back before returning his attention to the paperwork.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat back in his chair and took a moment to enjoy a sip of his coffee. He was feeling extremely tired owing to the lack of sleep that had resulted from the sudden return of Harry Potter to the magical world. He had been up most of the night dealing with the press and the Aurors as he tried to put the pieces in place in order to meet Harry's demands. Kingsley smiled ruefully to himself. Harry never was one for doing things by halves and his grand entrance yesterday was an event that would live long in the memory. It was yet another tale to add to the ever growing legend of the "Chosen One."

He was worried about him though. Whilst he could not claim to have been close to Harry in the same way that Arthur Weasley was - or Remus Lupin had been - he nonetheless had always had a high regard for him and had felt that same regard reciprocated. Kingsley had always kept a close eye on him, for a number of reasons. During the war, Dumbledore had stressed time and again that Harry was the key to victory and the old man had been proven right in the end. That victory had led to his own appointment as Minister and although it was only an interim appointment at first, his competence and discretion had led to him succeeding to the job on a permanent basis.

One of the benefits of his power was that he had been able to keep tabs on the development of Harry Potter, both personal and professional. When Harry had approached him expressing a desire to join the Auror ranks, he had been only too glad to help. Indeed, he had stressed to Harry that his door would always be open for advice and consultations and Harry had made full use of the offer. The two men had enjoyed many talks and Kingsley had been delighted to have been able to pass on his own knowledge and experience to the younger man. They had developed a close relationship and he had continually been struck by just how _ordinary_ Harry was.

This was not a back-handed complement. Harry had achieved so much; was revered in the magical world and yet remained humble and unchanged by the fame and adulation. Kingsley had discovered for himself just what a remarkable person Harry was. He had also discovered one of the reasons for this; his two closest friends. Kingsley had observed the relationship between Harry, Ron and Hermione and had been much struck by the interactions of the trio. If he was honest with himself, he had actually been a little jealous of their closeness; they had been through so much together and at times he could see them almost communicating on a telepathic level. It was a sight to behold.

And then it had all changed; the trio had been rent asunder and with the removal of this vital prop, Harry Potter had fallen to pieces. He thought back to their brief meeting yesterday; it had been like seeing a different person standing in the skin of Harry Potter. The bitterness; the hurt and above all, the hardness of the man had come as a shock; this Harry was a far cry from the pleasant young Auror that had once enjoyed the simple things in life. It occurred to Kingsley that whilst Harry had overcome one terrible demon in his short life, it was the demons in his own mind that could prove to be his final undoing. What Lord Voldemort had failed to achieve was now being accomplished by the same hand that had destroyed the Dark Lord forever. Harry Potter was being destroyed from within.

And Harry's only hope of redemption was Hermione Granger, he knew; only Hermione had a chance of getting through to him.

After the war, Kingsley had not been surprised to discover that Harry had started a relationship with Ginny Weasley and Hermione was going out with Ron. It had been the perfect happy ending; the heroes and heroine finally getting the opportunity to enjoy life without the shadow of the Dark Lord. But over the years as he had gotten to know them better, he had come to the conclusion that things were slightly awry; that the happy ending was not quite what it seemed. One had only to look at the relationship between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to know that somewhere along the line, the cup had slipped. When he had been in their company – even with Ron and Ginny present – he had noticed the connection between the two friends. A connection that was more than mere friendship.

If anyone could save Harry from himself, it was Hermione.

He glanced up at a soft rap on his door and smiled as Susan stuck her head into his office.

'Sorry to bother you, but John Dawlish is asking – no demanding – to see you. Will I tell him you are busy? Remember, you have Cornelius Fudge arriving in ten minutes.'

Sighing, Kingsley sat forward in his seat. He still wondered why Robards had promoted Dawlish. Whilst it was true that the younger man had superb magical skills, he seemed to have a penchant for shooting himself in the foot. And he had worked for the Voldemort regime too. Not a supporter, to be sure, but he had worked for it.

It was the biggest problem he'd had to face when first appointed Minister. There had been scores of Ministry employees who – while not supporters of Voldemort – had nonetheless carried out the orders of that brief administration. Many had of course claimed to be acting under the Imperius curse – others said that they acted out of fear - and it was virtually impossible to separate the wolves from the sheep. He had been forced to announce a general amnesty for them all, although he did keep a close eye on some of them. Some of the others he had placed in positions of such insignificance that it would be impossible for them to ever repeat the actions of five years ago.

If the decision had been his rather than Gawain Robards', John Dawlish would be guarding the stationery cupboard right now, not leading the investigation into crime of the decade. But he could not interfere in official investigations; that way led to despotism and he was aware of the slippery slope that could lead one to abuse one's power.

'Send him in Susan. Let's see what has annoyed him now,' he said with resignation.

Susan nodded and disappeared and a few moments later, Dawlish strode into the office, his face a mask of fury.

'Thank you for seeing me, Minister,' he began. 'I wish to make a complaint.'

'A complaint? What's wrong?' _This time,_ he left unsaid. 'Why haven't gone to speak to Gawain?'

'Because my complaint is about Harry Potter; he is abusing your authority. The man has just insulted me; has questioned my competence and has implied that my conduct of the investigation is less than satisfactory. He is using your written authority to act with impunity. I demand he be reprimanded!'

Kingsley flared at these words. 'Demand? Demand? You do not come into my office and make demands, Dawlish. You forget to whom you speak!' He noticed Dawlish redden even further and calmed himself. 'You know that we must give Harry every co-operation within our power?'

'I do, but…'

'And are you satisfied with your own conduct in the investigation?'

'Of course, but…'

'Then there is nothing to worry about.' Kingsley sighed, knowing he had to treat the complaint with some respect. The man was a fool, but he _was_ a senior Auror. 'I will speak to Harry this morning about his conduct. Satisfied?'

'Yes, Minister. Thank you,' said Dawlish meekly. He noticed Kingsley return his attention back the papers on his desk and took that as his dismissal. Kingsley watched him leave and sat back thoughtfully. Lifting a quill and some parchment, he wrote a short note. After a few moments, he stepped into the outer office.

'Susan? Could you arrange to send this to Harry Potter please?'

'So, did you learn anything, Harry?' asked Narcissa, struggling to keep her voice even. She knew it was early days, but was also acutely aware that they did not have much time to clear Draco's name.

Harry took a sip of his coffee before replying. 'Not much, but a few things that may be useful. If I were you, I would ask Mr Blackhouse to review some of the procedures Dawlish followed in his investigation. There are a few loose ends that were not followed up. I have prepared a report,' he added, handing her a brief summation of his preliminary findings.

He watched as Narcissa quickly scanned his work and waited for her response. He was coming to respect the quick intelligence of his hostess and realised that it could prove very useful to him. She understood far better than he did the way the magical world operated and her insight into certain political matters could be crucial. He noticed that she was shaking her head.

'They missed out so much. As you point out; they have no credible witnesses, nor a definite motive. How can they be so complacent?'

'As Dawlish said, the physical evidence is overwhelming. Cho was found in his bed and he was covered in her blood. Also, there is not sufficient evidence to prove that there was a third party in the room. That makes for a pretty clear cut case and will be enough to convince any jury.'

'Judge, Harry; convince any judge,' Narcissa gently chided. She noticed the look of confusion on his face. 'A wizard trial is not the same as a Muggle trial. I take it you have not had much experience of our courts since becoming an Auror?'

'No; my position is so junior that I have never been required to appear in court.'

Narcissa nodded. 'What you must understand is that the jury are all members of the Wizengamot and many of them will have already decided upon their verdict before the trial has even started. The man you have to convince is the judge; he directs the jury most of the time.'

Harry considered this. 'So what do we know of Judge Swing?'

'Swing by name, Swing by nature,' replied Narcissa. 'He's tough, Harry. He's a political judge and has come a long way. He's a trimmer; he's snaked his way to the top by leaping on whatever convenient bandwagon happened to suit him. He's a jumped up little prig and he enjoys power. He was one of the men involved in sending Sirius to Azkaban without a trial,' she added.

'Oh, really?' Harry sat back in his chair and considered this. 'Bastard,' he whispered softly. He filed this information away, knowing that it could be useful. 'In that case, we will need more than Dawlish's incompetence to clear Draco.'

Narcissa's lips thinned. 'What do we know of this Dawlish? Could he be involved?'

'It has occurred to me, but no, I don't think so.' He saw the look of doubt on her face and so elaborated. 'He's a conceited little fool, but an honest one. He wouldn't have the imagination to come up with something like this. That's not to say that he isn't being played by someone else though. Don't worry; I will be keeping an eye on him.'

Narcissa nodded at these words. 'So what now? Any leads yet?'

Harry debated briefly whether to tell her about the elf he was looking for before deciding that the question was absurd. One person he most certainly could trust was Narcissa Malfoy. She would walk through hell to keep her son safe and Harry wondered if Draco fully appreciated just how lucky he was. He thought back to his school days when he had insulted this woman in Draco's presence. Draco's reaction to the insult answered Harry's own question. _Of course he appreciated how lucky he was. He wasn't a fool._

He spent the next few minutes relating what he had discovered and the steps he had taken to uncover more information.

'And you can trust Miss Granger?' asked Narcissa when he had finished.

Harry flared at the question and Narcissa – noticing his sudden anger – held out her hands to placate him. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I can tell by your reaction that you do. Forgive me; I know the two of you have been through so much together.'

Harry accepted the apology and calmed down. 'Yes, I trust her. More than anyone alive. I would…' he stopped abruptly as a large owl flew in the large bay window and landed on his lap. _Who was writing to me here?_

He tore open the envelope and recognised the writing immediately. _Kingsley._

'It would seem that the Minister wants to see me,' Harry said with a smile. He knew what this would be about.

'What? Now?' asked Narcissa.

'Yeah; I was going to the Ministry this morning anyway. I'll pop in and see him when I'm there.' He glanced at his watch_. Shit_. He had a lot to do today and not enough time. And he still had to decide what to do about Hermione.

Narcissa noticed his frustration. 'Is there anything I can help you with, Harry?'

'Not really.' He made to rise. 'Oh! Wait a minute; there is! I wanted to visit Draco's flat today. Do you have a key?'

Narcissa looked puzzled. 'Key? Why would I have a key? I never needed a key to visit my son – his flat was sealed magically. The door is opened with a password.'

Harry's eyeballs clicked at this comment and he noticed by the expression on her face that Narcissa had come to the same realisation – he had written it in his report, after all. Dawlish had emphasised the fact himself.

_The key was still in the lock_.


	7. Two's Company

**Two's Company**

For the tenth time in as many minutes, Harry Potter glanced at his watch and cursed. He was sitting in Kingsley's outer office waiting for the Minister to finish with his current appointment and his frustration at having to wait was testing his mood. He had arrived expecting to be shown straight in and had been unpleasantly surprised by the delay.

_Fuck this._ His patience finally exhausted, he stood to leave but was checked by the sudden opening of the door to the inner office and the appearance of the Minister. _About bloody time too._

He made to greet the man but the words caught in his throat as he realised who it was that had been monopolising Kingsley's time.

_Cornelius Fudge._

'Why; it's Harry Potter!' exclaimed Fudge. 'Harry, Harry. Good to see you, my boy. How are you? Still battling away, eh?'

Harry glanced at Kingsley in astonishment before turning his attention back to the man that had made his life so difficult back in his fifth year. The years had not been kind to Fudge; it was a cliché, but the man _had_ aged. What remained of his hair was now almost entirely grey and he now walked with a slight – yet pronounced – stoop. He saw that the ex-minister was regarding him with a beaming benevolence.

'Fudge,' he managed to grumble in acknowledgment. He was emphatically not in the mood to talk to this man. Fudge did not seem to notice his reticence; or if he did, he chose to ignore it.

'I was delighted to hear that you had returned, Harry. If anyone can save young Draco, it will be you. I was just saying to the Minister that it would be a crime if this case were not investigated properly.' He turned to Kingsley. 'Well, Minister. Thanks for seeing me.'

'Thanks for coming, Cornelius,' replied Kingsley, shaking the man's hand. Harry watched in bemusement as Fudge shuffled out the door. He turned to Kingsley, his face a question.

Kingsley noticed the expression and smiled. 'Come on in, Harry, and I'll explain.'

Once the two men were seated, Harry leaned forward expectantly in his chair. 'What the hell is he doing here? I thought he was finished.'

Kingsley laughed. 'Far from it, Harry. Cornelius has proved to be a useful ally over the years.' He noticed the confusion on Harry's face and decided to elaborate. 'Cornelius is still an influential figure in the Wizengamot, Harry. I still need his advice from time to time.'

'Advice? What possible advice can that idiot give you?'

'He's not an idiot, Harry,' began Kingsley. 'I know that you had your difficulties with him in the past but he is not all bad.' He took a moment to consider his next words. 'I understand why you have such a low opinion of him, Harry. When our world needed decisive leadership he totally failed to provide it. I grant you; he was completely wrong in the way he acted after Voldemort returned, but you must not lose sight of the fact that prior to this Cornelius ran a very tight administration for a number of years. It is foolish to underestimate him.'

'But he nearly lost us the war! He treated me like shit!' Harry leaned forward. 'And let's not forget that he ordered the Kiss for Barty Crouch Jnr. And he would have done the same to Sirius too. The man is a bastard.'

'I know; but do not let this blind you to the fact that he is a highly skilled politician. He was right about a lot of things when he was Minister; it is just unfortunate that he was wrong on a particularly big issue. I need him; sometimes we must deal with those we would rather not,' he added.

'You need him? Why?'

'He has been a staunch ally in helping me steer some tricky legislation through the Wizengamot. The reforms I am proposing to some of our older laws in respect of the non-human elements of our society have generated a lot of opposition. Cornelius has proven very adept at persuading some of our opponents round to my point of view. His help has been invaluable; if you doubt me, just ask Miss Granger. She has been dealing with him too.'

'Hermione? But she hates him as much as I do!'

'Perhaps; but she has been able to put past differences aside for the sake of society as a whole. I suggest you do the same. Cornelius has his faults, but his support on this issue has been unswerving. He has worked quietly behind the scenes to change people's minds.' He held up a list. 'Look; this is another four votes he has managed to swing in our favour.'

Harry was incredulous. This did not sound like the Cornelius Fudge he remembered. But then perhaps Kingsley was correct. Fudge may have got it very wrong in respect to Voldemort, but he was not aware of any problems with his administration in times of peace. His support for the non-human element of the magical world still surprised him, but if he was honest with himself he had to admit that he hadn't really considered this aspect of Fudge's politics before. He shrugged, deciding it was not important.

'So what did you want to see me about?' he asked.

'Dawlish.' Kingsley noticed that Harry was not surprised by his answer. 'He says you insulted him.'

'I did.'

Kingsley sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'Harry, while I know you do not have a particularly high opinion of him, I would ask you to consider whether antagonising him is beneficial to Draco's prospects. Besides; he is a Ministry Auror and I would be grateful if you could at least respect his position, if not the man. I am aware that you have a number of unresolved issues with him but I should point out that if you show disrespect to Ministry employees, you show disrespect to my Ministry and thus to me. I would be grateful if you could desist in future.'

Harry frowned at the gentle rebuke. He had not considered Kingsley in this and he was disappointed to learn that the Minister was taking his attitude towards Dawlish as a personal affront. He had nothing but the greatest respect for Kingsley and was not happy at having caused him such discomfort.

'I'll try, Kingsley. I certainly mean no disrespect to you. I will try to control myself – even with Dawlish.'

'Thank you, Harry; that's all I ask.' He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. 'Tell me; have you made any progress in the case?'

Harry immediately took on a guarded look, one that was not missed by Kingsley.

'I don't need the details, Harry; just a general outline. This case has ramifications that reach to the very top. Do you think he did it?'

'No.'

'I am beginning to have my doubts too. I went over the details again last night and I have to say that in all my years as an Auror I never came across a case that was so clear cut. The only thing we don't seem to have is a photograph of Malfoy killing Cho Chang. It's too neat. And I have always been very suspicious of anonymous tip off's.'

'I know,' replied Harry, aware that Kingsley was discreetly trying to assist him. 'I was struck by both factors right away too. I really think he has been set up. I have a few leads worth pursuing, but nothing concrete. I am beginning to think that the only way to prove that Draco didn't do it is to find out who did.'

'Well, let me know if you need anything. I have never agreed with subjecting anyone to the Kiss – in fact I was going to introduce legislation to ban it soon. Not soon enough for Draco Malfoy though. He needs you to come up with something.'

'I know, but I have so much I need to look into, and not enough time.' He glanced at his watch; one forty. It took a moment for this to register in Harry's mind. _One forty._

'Shit!' exclaimed Harry, getting to his feet.

'What is it?' asked Kingsley, suddenly concerned.

'She's going to kill me! Shit!'

'Harry? What is it?'

'Hermione! I was supposed to be in her office ten minutes ago! She's going to go mental! I need to go, Kingsley,' he added, heading for the door.

'Give her my regards!' shouted Kingsley, trying not to laugh as he watched Harry dash out his office. Harry had faced down Dragons, Death Eaters and even Voldemort, but he was still terrified of a wrathful Hermione Granger.

_Perhaps there was still some hope for him after all._

Hermione Granger glanced at the clock on her office wall and tried to suppress the feeling of panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

_I went too far. I went too far and now he's run off again. Oh, God. I went too far..._

She had been watching the clock all morning and the minute hand seemed to be going backwards such was the speed that the time had seemed to pass. Since waking up she had been extremely nervous; _what if he doesn't show up?_

She now regretted her outburst; it obviously had been too much for him but his attitude had fuelled her anger. Now - as the clock edged towards ten to two - she realised that she might have blown her only chance to help her friend. _Where would he have gone?_

Making a quick decision, she stood up and grabbed her bag before heading to collect her jacket from the peg. She started to put it on and it was at that moment she heard a soft rap on the door.

'Come in?' she said hopefully, one arm caught in the sleeve of her coat. She thought her heart had stopped beating for a moment and - as the door swung open and Harry stepped into the room with a nervous expression his face – she felt the relief wash over her. They stood facing each other for a long moment.

'Where the hell have you been?' she finally snapped.

He held up his hands to placate her. 'Sorry! I'm sorry; I got held up. Kingsley wanted to see me about something and I was delayed. I should have sent a note.' He noticed that she was holding her bag and that her coat was halfway on. He smiled; his amusement obvious.

'Going somewhere, Hermione? Did you think I had buggered off again?' He saw her redden and realised that he had been right on the mark. He also noticed that she looked extremely cute when embarrassed. He shook that thought aside.

'Of course not!' squeaked Hermione. 'I was just…just…'

'…just coming to kick my arse.' He laughed. 'Do you honestly think that I would run again after you threatened me last night?'

He hoped his levity would disguise the truth. In the small hours of the night as he had tossed and turned in his bed, he _had _considered running again. But then he'd realised that he had nowhere to run to. Whether he liked it or not he had to admit Hermione was right; he had no one else.

Hermione reddened even further at the reminder of her little speech. 'No; I suppose not. I'm glad to see you have at least learned how to do what you are told.'

'It depends who is giving me the orders. Anyone else and I would have run just to spite them, but when you threaten a man…' he said, still smiling.

She smiled in return at this; this first real attempt at a joke he had made to her since returning. 'Just so long as you remember that,' she replied tartly.

'So what did you want to see me about?' he asked.

Hermione blinked at this question before realising that she had been the one to demand his presence. 'I wanted to go over some things with you,' she replied. 'I have a few ideas that I think might help.'

He looked interested now, she noticed. She watched as he made his way over to one of the chairs by her desk and was struck by the fluid grace of his movement. He had certainly filled out in his absence and now looked more handsome than ever. She watched him sit down in one of the chairs by her desk and fold his arms, before eying her with an amused expression. She realised that he had caught her staring at him.

'Well? Are you staying or going?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She realised that she was still standing with one arm in the sleeve of her coat. She blushed again, slightly discomfited by the fact that he had put her on the wrong foot so easily. She became aware of the absurdity of her situation. 'Oh, piss off, Harry,' she said, laughing as she removed her coat and hung it up again. She sat down at her desk, facing him. He seemed to be in a better mood today, but she was aware of the fragility – the brittleness – of her friend. She decided that a professional approach was probably the best one at the minute. She considered carefully what to say next.

'I spent half the night wondering the best way to find a specific elf, but I finally came up with something.' That the other half of the night had been spent worrying about Harry was something he did not need to know.

'What?'

'We are going to need to enlist some outside help, I'm afraid.'

'But I need this to remain a secret. Who else can we trust?' There was a hint of panic in his voice as he wondered who Hermione had asked to help. It could be anyone – even Ginny – and he was not ready for such encounters at the minute.

Hermione sensed his discomfort. 'Relax, Harry. It's someone that I think you will be happy to see.'

'Who? Where is he?'

'I can't ask him to come here; only you can. It's an old friend that will be glad to see you.' She noticed that he still hadn't worked it out and sighed in exasperation. It had to be him that said the name. 'Harry? Who looked after us for a while back in seventh year?'

He looked thoughtful for a moment before it finally hit him.

'Kreacher?' he asked.

And then nearly fell out of his chair at the sudden _crack_ that rent the air. When he recovered his composure, he was aware of a small form clutching his leg. Despite himself, he smiled.

'Kreacher!' he exclaimed and there was genuine warmth in his voice. The little elf had been a staunch ally since the defeat of Voldemort and had accepted Harry as his master without demur. In fact, he had been positively delighted to serve him.

'Master has returned!' exclaimed the elf, clinging on to Harry's leg for dear life. 'Kreacher knew master would return one day and he is so happy to see him again. How can I serve master?'

'It's good to see you again too, Kreacher. How are you?'

'I'm fine now, master. Kreacher is fine now that you have returned.'

Harry felt more than a little guilty as he regarded the elf. He had not given Kreacher a second thought when he had left and now felt terrible about this.

'I'm sorry I left, Kreacher. I should have spoken to you.'

'No matter, master; you are here now. How can I serve?'

'I need you to try and track down an elf for me, Kreacher. I'll let Hermione explain.'

Harry watched with interest as Hermione outlined to Kreacher what they were looking for. He noticed that her countenance took on a different complexion when talking to the little elf; her face almost lit up and the lines of stress and tiredness disappeared from her brow. He also noticed that she looked extremely good in an expensively cut navy business suit. The skirt in particular hugged her form and as for the white blouse…

_Jesus, Harry. Get a grip! This is Hermione!_

Shaking his head, he turned away from the little tableau and let his thoughts wander to less dangerous subjects. He allowed himself to remember with fondness just how the little elf had totally changed his attitude towards them once he had been presented with the locket in Grimmauld Place. After that, Kreacher could not do enough for them. He remembered too with amusement Kreacher tracking down Mundungus when they needed to find him. _Poor Dung – he had been terrified._

A light bulb went off in his head as he remembered this. He waited until Hermione had finished giving the elf his instructions before speaking again.

'Kreacher? Do you think you could do something else for me please?'

'Of course, Master Harry. Anything.'

'Do you remember the wizard you fetched for us when we were looking for the locket?'

'Kreacher remembers the filthy little thief.'

'Good. Do you think you could track him down again?' He noticed the curious expression on Hermione's face, but ignored it for the moment.

'Yes, master. Kreacher could fetch him right now if you want.' He noticed the surprise on Harry's face. 'When I tracked him the first time I took a note of his magical signature in case the dirty little thief stole from us again. Kreacher always knows exactly where he is.'

'Fantastic! Could you get him for me now please? And, Kreacher? Don't threaten him. Just tell him that I have a proposition for him. Ask him nicely. Tell him there could be a few galleons in it for him. That should get his attention.'

The elf nodded his understanding and disappeared with a _crack_.

'What was that all about, Harry? Why do you want to see Mundungus? He won't be able to find an elf.'

'That's not what I want him to find. Trust me; it's just a thought. Dung may be a crook, but he has his uses. Just wait and see.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Is that how they are always able to answer a summons? They can track a magical signature?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, but we don't fully understand how it works. It seems to be something they are born with.'

'So Kreacher would have known where I went to when I left?'

She nodded.

'Why didn't he come after me?'

'Because you never summoned him. I asked him to tell me where you were but he refused; he said that you didn't want to be found.'

'He's a clever elf,' replied Harry quietly.

Hermione nodded at his words and made to reply but was interrupted by the sudden return of Kreacher who reappeared with a rather disconcerted looking Mundungus Fletcher firmly in his grasp.

'Bloody elf!' exclaimed the petty crook. 'Bloody Harry Potter; setting a bloody elf on me again,' he muttered.

'Hello, Dung,' said Harry, loudly. 'Good to see you again. Glad you could make it.'

Mundungus turned at the words. 'Oh. Harry. Good to see you too, mate.' His eyes flicked around the room as if looking for a means of escape and he shifted from side to side as he spoke. 'What can I do for you, Harry? You know me - always happy to help.'

'I'm pleased to hear it, Dung. I have a little job for you.' He noticed a guarded look suddenly spring onto Mundungus' face, but knew how to take care of that. 'Fancy earning a bit of spare cash, Dung?'

This got his interest. Suddenly, Mundungus Fletcher was at full attention, his eyes firmly fixed upon his host.

'You know me, Harry; always on the lookout for a few extra sheckles.' He paused as if considering his current predicament. 'If you don't mind me asking, Harry; how much, exactly, is "a bit of spare cash"?'

'500 galleons if you agree to help me.' He saw the eyes nearly pop out of Dung's head. 'And five times that amount if you get me what I am looking for,' he added.

It took Mundungus a few moments to recover his composure at hearing these amounts. 'Well, count me in then, Harry. What do you need?'

'I need any information you can get me on the whereabouts of the Death Eaters that escaped from Azkaban last year.'

He watched as the expression on Dung's face changed to one of horror. 'I can't do that, Harry,' he hissed. 'That's too bloody dangerous for my liking.'

'Dung, I am not asking you to capture them. I am only asking that you – discreetly – make a few enquiries. I know you, Dung; you hear everything well before the rest of us. This is how you have managed to survive for so long. You have contacts up and down the country. _Someone _knows where these bastards are holing up because someone must be helping them to get what they need. I just need to know if you can find out anything that can be construed as a little odd. You know the sort of thing I am talking about. You _hear _things Dung.'

'I've not heard anything about that. Look, Harry; I'm sorry, but I ca….'

'1000 galleons for looking, and ten grand if you find anything,' interrupted Harry.

'1000 Galleons? Just for looking? Even if I fail?' He considered this for a moment, and Harry could almost hear his mind turning. 'OK, Harry. That seems a fair offer. I'll do it.'

Harry smiled, knowing exactly what the little crook was contemplating right now.

'It is a more than fair offer, Dung, but I'm glad to know you are willing to help. Of course, I know I can trust you, can't I? You wouldn't try to con me, would you? Mundungus Fletcher wouldn't take my money and sit on his arse all week doing nothing and still try to pick up the searchers fee, would he?' Harry's voice was light as he said this but when he spoke next his voice was pure ice. 'Let's make sure we understand one another, Dung. If you try that little scam with me – if you don't give this your best shot - I'll rip your face off. You know I will find out; you're not the only card I have up my sleeve. Do we have an understanding?'

Mundungus – who had turned white at Harry's words – nodded his head as if being pulled by strings. He had a glassy look in his eye. 'S-s-sure, Harry. We have an understanding.'

'Good. One other thing; don't mention my name to anyone. Be discreet.'

'No problem, Harry. Discreet. Yeah; right. Discreet. No problem.'

'Thanks, Dung,' said Harry. 'That will be all. You can take him back to where you found him, Kreacher.'

He continued to stare at the smaller man until Mundungus and Kreacher disappeared. He turned to Hermione and was surprised at the look of astonishment on her face. 'What?' he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Hermione took a moment to reply. 'It's just that I've never seen you in your official capacity before, Harry. Usually when you see "good cop/bad cop" there are two people involved; you managed it all on your own. It's just…strange to see you at work. You handled Mundungus pretty well.'

Harry laughed. 'Dung's no problem compared to some of the people I've had to deal with. He's so crooked he could walk through a corkscrew sideways, but he's harmless. He'll do as I ask. The money is too good an offer for him.'

'Where is the money coming from?'

Harry shrugged. 'If he finds out anything that helps Draco then I suspect Narcissa will cover him in gold. If not? I'll pay him myself.' He noticed the Hermione regard him with surprise. 'I can afford it and you never know; he might turn up something about Ron. Dung knows what to do; he'll try his best, I'm sure.'

'Will you really rip his face off if he doesn't?' asked Hermione quietly.

'What do you think?'

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. A year ago she would have laughed at the absurdity of the notion, but with this Harry she wasn't _entirely_ sure. She noticed that he was waiting for an answer. 'Well, of course not! As if!'

Harry looked at her with an amused expression on his face and Hermione had the feeling that he knew exactly what she had been thinking. She was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She tried to change the subject. 'So what now?'

'Now? Now we wait. It will probably take those two a few days to find anything out. In the meantime, I have a lot to do. I need to visit Malfoy's flat this afternoon.'

'Can I come?'

Hermione noticed that he looked surprised by the question, but it had occurred to her – now she had given him what he wanted – that he might not get in touch with her again.

'Why would you want to come?' he finally asked.

'I'm curious, I guess. I have never been involved in a criminal investigation before. I find it fascinating.'

'Have you no work to do here?' he asked.

'Not until later. I have a meeting at four with my department heads, but I can re-schedule.'

'Department heads? I thought you ran this department.' He sounded confused.

Hermione sighed. 'You never did pay attention to our world, did you? When Kingsley created the DMC he merged a few existing departments together.'

'Such as?'

'Such as the Goblin Liaison Office; the Regulation of Magical Creatures – that kind of thing.'

Harry nodded his understanding. 'So you are in charge of all of that? Bloody hell, Hermione,' he said, clearly impressed. 'I had no idea you had so much responsibility. Not bad for someone that's only twenty four.'

She blushed at his complement. 'Well, seeing as how I _am_ the boss, I can take the afternoon off. Do you want some company?' she asked carefully, trying to sound nonchalant. _Please want my company. Please. I've missed you._

Harry took a long moment to answer. He thought he knew why she was doing this but if he was honest with himself, some company would be nice. He was getting just a little fed up at being so lonely all the time. 'OK; get your coat. I need to visit the Aurors later too. There is a little…inconsistency I have to check out before I see them. I'll explain on the way. Anyway, we shouldn't be gone for more than an hour. You will still be back in time for your meeting.'

Hermione tried not to look too pleased as she grabbed her coat from the hook.

Half an hour later, Harry and Hermione stood outside the front door of Draco Malfoy's flat. The apartment building was extremely plush and was almost exactly the sort of building one would expect a wealthy young bachelor to dwell in. It was situated in Kensington, one of the capital's more exclusive districts and – strangely, they both thought – it was not an exclusively magical block. There were a number of Muggles who also lived in the building.

Hermione was nervous – she had never been involved in anything like this before and had crept up the stairs as quietly as she could. Harry hadn't said anything so she figured to remain on guard. She could _feel_ the tension.

'This isn't the kind of place I thought Draco would be comfortable in,' she whispered as she cast a glance up and down the corridor. 'I didn't think he would want to live anywhere near Muggles.'

Harry looked at her oddly for a moment. 'I know what you mean,' he finally whispered back, 'but I think Draco may value social status over blood. These are not common Muggles that live here. The cheapest flat in this building costs over a million and I believe that there are a few famous people living here. And, Hermione?' he asked, his voice barely audible as he beckoned her nearer to him. He too cast furtive glances around them.

'Yes?' she asked, leaning her ear in towards his mouth, her heart beating fast.

'THERE'S NO NEED TO WHISPER!' shouted Harry, making his friend jump into the air in surprise. She stood holding her chest, breathing heavily at the sudden shock. Harry burst out laughing. 'We're allowed to be here, Hermione. There's no need for the cloak and dagger stuff.' He was laughing heartily, the tears rolling down his face. Clearly he had enjoyed having some fun at her expense.

Hermione was furious at him for a moment before she saw the humour in the absurdity of her behaviour. She put her hands on her hips.

'I'll get you for that, Harry Potter. That was a cheap trick.' She tried to sound severe, but couldn't keep up the pretence. She began to laugh.

He held up his hands. 'Sorry; I couldn't help myself. You were just so…intense.'

Hermione regarded him, pleased to see that he at least retained a sense of humour. The 'cheap trick' was something the Harry of a year ago would have done and she was suddenly glad that he had done it now. 'OK; now that you have had your fun, do you think you could open the door? Do you have the password?'

Still laughing, Harry nodded and turned to the door.

'_Scorpius!'_

A yellow glow could be seen on the handle and the door swung open. Hermione looked at her friend, her face a question.

'Scorpius?'

Harry laughed. 'Yeah, I know. I asked; Narcissa says that it's a name Draco's always liked for some reason.' He shrugged. 'Who knows what makes the mind of Draco Malfoy tick.'

Hermione laughed too. 'Who knows indeed?'

Harry smiled at her before turning serious for a moment. 'Now this isn't going to be too pleasant, Hermione.' He noticed the curious expression on her face. 'The flat is still a crime scene. The bloodstains will probably still be evident and I suspect that the bed will be a complete mess. Are you OK with this?'

She nodded; her face a mask of determination. 'After you, Harry. There is no way I'm staying out here.'

Harry regarded her for a moment before turning and entering the flat. Hermione followed right behind him and it was for this reason that she crashed into the back of him, bumping her head against his when he abruptly stopped.

'Ow!' she exclaimed. 'What did you stop for, Harry? What's the matter wit…'

She stopped talking in mid-sentence; stopped because she saw the same thing that Harry had seen when first entering the flat.

The room was immaculate.

There was not a speck of dust anywhere. The freshly polished metallic fixtures and fittings sparkled in the sunlight that radiated in through the window. The plush cream carpet did not have a mark on it, never mind a blood stain. Hermione watched as Harry marched across to what she presumed was the bedroom door and thrust it open. He stood in the doorway for a moment, his face like thunder.

'The bastards!' he hissed. 'It's spotless. It's like a bloody show home!'

She followed him into the room and saw exactly what he meant. The bedroom was in the same condition as the living area. Not a mark could be seen on any of the furniture and she felt positively dazzled by the whiteness of the bed sheets. The carpet did not have a single blemish or speck of dust on it – it was like new. There was absolutely no sign that Cho Chang had been brutally murdered in this very spot.

'Harry? What's going on?'

'No idea,' he replied grimly. 'This place is supposed to have been cleared of evidence and then sealed. There is no way _anyone_ should have cleaned it up like this until the investigation was complete.' He sounded furious.

'So what does this mean?'

'It means that someone is very worried that I have been asked to look into this.' He took a deep breath, shaking his head. 'No matter; I didn't come here to check the forensics.'

'So why are we here then?'

'A couple of things that Dawlish said made me want to check the place for myself.'

'What?'

'Well, first there is the key,' he said, marching back towards the front door. Hermione followed, curious. He had already explained this to her on the way over and she wondered what he was looking for. She watched as he crouched down and began examining the lock.

'I'm no expert,' he said, 'but I don't think this particular lock was used on a regular basis. What do you think?'

Surprised at being asked, Hermione crouched down next to him. Almost immediately she became aware of his scent; of his breath on her cheek. She did her best to ignore this as she looked at the lock.

He was right. The lock was rusty and looked as stiff as a board – there was no way that Draco Malfoy used a key to gain entry – but then, did anyone use keys in their world? Most people sealed their doors with magic; after all, a simple _Alohamora_ took care of any door locked with a key. _So why was one left here?_ A sudden thought occurred to her.

She stood quickly and began to examine the wall next to the front door. After a few moments she found what she was looking for.

'What is it?' asked Harry, aware that his friend was on to something. He had seen this look in her eyes on countless occasions – the look that told him that Hermione Granger was on the scent.

'There was a key here, Harry. It hung here,' she added, pointing to a small pin hole in the wall. On closer examination, Harry could actually see a _slightly_ darker outline on the wall where a key would have hung.

'Why would he have a key?' he asked.

'He probably didn't even notice it.' She saw the confused look on his face. 'My mum and dad always hung a key next to the front door. If the previous owner of this flat was a Muggle, then he might have done the same. Draco probably never paid it any attention, but whoever was in here that night must have seen it and assumed that it was needed to lock the door.'

Harry was impressed. He knew that Hermione was one of the cleverest people he had ever met, but her analysis of the scene still surprised him. 'So there was definitely someone else here, you reckon?' He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear what she thought.

'Unless Draco locked this door with a key, there was definitely someone else here,' she replied.

'Good. That's what I thought,' Harry said, satisfied.

'What else did you want to check?' she asked. He noticed him start with surprise. 'You said Dawlish mentioned a couple of things. What else?'

'I had forgotten that you don't miss much. This way,' he added with a smile, and for the first time since being reunited with him, she noticed that _this_ smile directed at her actually had genuine warmth in it. She didn't have time to dwell on this, however, as Harry had strode quickly back into the bedroom. She followed him in and noticed him standing right by the window. He opened it and leaned out.

'Come here a minute,' he said, his voice muffled as his head hung out over the window frame.

Hermione edged her way towards him and tried to peer out, standing on her tiptoe's about three foot from the window. They were on the seventh floor.

Harry sensed her unease, suddenly remembering that she was not entirely comfortable dealing with heights. 'It's OK, Hermione; I won't let you fall.' He stretched his arm round her shoulder and took a firm grip, pulling her towards him by the very edge of the window. He struggled to appear relaxed as he fought the sense of being overwhelmed by the very essence of her. He was suddenly aware of the scent of her hair; her hands tightly clutching his chest and arm; the press of her hips against him; her breath on his neck as she clung to him and cautiously peered out of the window.

'What am I looking for?' she asked, trying to sound casual in Harry's firm grip. No one had held her like this for a long, long, time and she found herself enjoying the sensation, despite the drop below.

Harry cleared his throat, hoping she had not noticed his discomfort. 'Dawlish told me that the anonymous source had claimed to have witnessed the whole thing through the window,' he said, as casually as he could.

Hermione turned and looked at him sharply before casting her glance back out the window. Instead of merely looking straight ahead, she actually glanced around and down, carefully examining the surroundings. There were no balconies on this apartment block and – tellingly – the building opposite was side on to this one. It was a gable end that faced her, not the facade.

'Harry? We're seven stories up. Unless this source happened to be flying right outside, he couldn't have seen anything.'

'I know.'

Hermione took a moment to digest this, the implications sinking in. 'Draco _has_ been framed, hasn't he?' she asked in a small voice. She'd had doubts from the beginning, but now she was certain.

He nodded. 'No doubt about it. I was almost sure he was innocent right away, but I wanted to be totally certain. There is absolutely no doubt that someone else is involved.'

'But who?'

'No idea.' He moved slightly and both became aware at the same time that they were clinging to each other as if for dear life. For a brief moment their eyes locked together and Hermione felt herself becoming a little lost in his gaze before Harry abruptly turned and pulled them both back into the centre of the room, away from the window. Then he let her go.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a few moments and Hermione watched her friend as he looked at her with an odd expression before he turned and strode quickly out of the door.

'C'mon!' he shouted. 'We need to speak to the Aurors. And I have a key to find.'

Despite the situation, Hermione smiled. There was still hope for him yet; it was the little things that sometimes revealed a person's true character. Only Harry would have thought to move her _away_ from the window before releasing his grip on her.

_Despite everything, he was still the gentleman._


	8. Assistance

**Assistance**

Harry was a bit nervous as he approached the main office of the Aurors. He hadn't set foot inside this department since the day Ron was killed and he did not know what sort of reception he was going to receive from his former colleagues. Technically, he remained a part of this team although he had not turned up for work in nearly a year. He suspected that he would not receive a uniformly warm welcome.

Hermione seemed to sense his unease and gave his hand a soft squeeze as they approached the door. He smiled gratefully to her and then with a deep breath, he marched into the office.

He was immediately confronted by a quartet of turned heads as he entered. He noticed that three of the faces broke into smiles of greeting and was pleased to note that at least Savage, Proudfoot and Williamson seemed happy to see him. The fourth occupant, however, regarded him with a surly expression. But then – ever since their days together in training - he never had got on with Blaise Zabini.

'Harry! Good to see you mate! It's been too long,' said James Williamson as he approached, his arm extended in welcome. He was soon followed by Tom Proudfoot and Mark Savage.

Despite himself, Harry smiled in return. 'Good to see you too, James. Good to see all of you,' he replied, shaking the hand of each man in turn.

'So where the hell have you been?' asked Tom Proudfoot.

'Long story, Tom. Probably best if we leave it to some other time. Where's Dawlish?'

He noticed that his three colleagues ignored his question and that each of them was casting admiring glances at Hermione who hung back behind him. He cursed his lack of manners.

'Sorry! I should have done this first! Gents? Can I introduce my friend Hermione Granger? She runs the DMC.' He turned to Hermione. 'This is Tom, Mark and James – we worked together. Tom was my partner.'

'Pleased to meet you all,' said Hermione, smiling at Harry's belated introduction.

'Pleased to finally meet you too, Miss Granger,' replied Tom. 'Of course; we all know who you are but it is nice to finally be formally introduced – even if this idiot here took his time about it,' he added with a smile. His expression turned serious again. 'Dawlish isn't here just now; Merlin knows where he is – he went out over an hour ago. What can we do for you?'

'I was hoping to see Robards,' replied Harry. He cast a glance towards Zabini who was skulking behind his desk, a black look on his face. He lowered his voice. 'I'm looking for a bit of help too, Tom. I'm after the key that was in Malfoy's flat – it wasn't included in the stuff Dawlish brought to me. I also want a nosey at the files, if that's all right.'

Tom nodded his understanding and when he replied, he too spoke quietly. 'No problem, Harry, you are still a part of this team as far as I am concerned. Robards is in his office; just go right in. And when you are in seeing him I will escort the _lovely_ Miss Granger to the archives,' he added with a wink. 'I'll see if I can dig out that key too – I don't know why it wasn't included in the stuff sent over.'

'Thanks, Tom. I wasn't sure if anyone would be willing to help Draco Malfoy.'

'Don't mention it, Harry. I'm doing this for you, not the Malfoy's.' He indicated with a slight nod towards Zabini. 'Watch Blaise - he's tight with Dawlish. They have partnered him with me at the moment, so the sooner you come back the better. He's an ambitious little prick and if he crawls any further up John Dawlish's arse, we are going to need a crow bar to remove him. Keep an eye on him. The rest of us will help you any way we can.'

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. 'Thanks again, Tom. I really appreciate it.' He turned to Hermione and put his mouth to her ear. 'Do you think you could do me a favour?' She nodded. 'Tom will escort you to the archives. Have a quick look over Ron's case notes. See if anything strikes you as odd. Gather anything you think relevant and we will take it with us,' he whispered. He stepped back from her and when he next spoke it was in a normal voice. 'I won't be long; I just need a quick word with Robards and then we can go.' He glanced at his watch. 'You should still make your meeting at four. And keep an eye on this one,' he added, jerking his thumb towards Tom.

'Watch it, Potter! If it wasn't for the fact you have asked me to accompany such a beautiful woman, I would hex your arse right now,' said Tom with a laugh. The Auror noticed both Hermione _and_ Harry blush at his words and his smile broadened.

'Well Mr Proudfoot? Shall we?' asked Hermione, offering her arm and smiling. She decided that she liked this one. She turned to Harry. 'I'll see you in a bit. Don't worry; I think I'm in capable hands,' she added.

Harry smiled as he watched them go before turning and heading towards Robards' office. As he approached it, he stopped as Blaise Zabini finally decided to break his silence.

'Don't expect a fatted calf from Robards, Potter. Or from me. Some of us know what a coward you are. Running away when the going gets tough? Some Gryffindor you are,' he spat.

Harry's hands balled into fists at the words. He turned to the former Slytherin and his look was murderous. 'Anytime you want, Zabini, we can find out who the coward is.' He walked towards where Blaise was sitting and leaned down until their faces were only inches apart. 'I've dealt with a lot worse than you in my time, so if you want to back up your words with actions you'll find me ready. Just let me know when, you little prick.'

Zabini quailed under the intense gaze and nearly toppled off his chair as he leaned away from his adversary. Harry nodded, satisfied.

'That's what I though; typical Slytherin – all talk and no balls. See you around, _Blaise,_' he added, before turning and heading towards the office of Gawain Robards, head of the Auror Division. He took a breath to calm himself before rapping sharply on the door.

'Enter!'

Harry swung open the door and entered the plush office. He could tell that Robards was surprised to see him, but the man recovered his composure quickly and it was with a beaming smile that he stood to greet Harry with an outstretched hand.

'Harry, m'boy!' he exclaimed. 'I was wondering when you would get round to seeing us! Good to see you. Here; take a seat, take a seat,' he added as he guided Harry into a chair. Despite himself, Harry smiled. He had not had many dealings with the man but he had always been amused by the air of urgency that his boss radiated. Robards was a live wire and did everything at a hundred miles per hour.

'Thank you,' he replied.

'So what can I do for you, Harry? I presume this isn't a social visit? That you are here in relation to the Malfoy case?'

'That is correct; I have a few questions that I have to ask you.'

'Go ahead, Harry. Only too happy to help.'

'Who gave the order to clean Malfoy's flat? I was there earlier and I couldn't learn anything – it was as if it was a new home, not a crime scene.

'Ah! That would be me, Harry. I gave the order.'

'Why?'

'Because the media were sniffing around demanding access. Rita bloody Skeeter was on her high horse again and wanted a look at the scene. _The Prophet_ has been all over this case like a rash. She wanted photographs too, would you believe? I told her to bugger off but she wouldn't take no for an answer. She's like a ghoul, that woman; she peddles in other people's misfortune. Anyway; she wouldn't let go of the idea so I ordered the flat to be cleaned in order to get rid of her. There's no story in that building now that it has been cleaned up. It worked too; she stopped annoying me after that. She _did_ call me an interfering old fool though. In print, too.'

Harry shook his head. He's had enough run-ins with Rita to last a lifetime so had a degree of sympathy for Robards. It did not excuse his actions though.

'I understand how annoying she can be, but that was a crime scene. I wanted a look at it.'

'Relax, Harry, relax. I know you think I am a barmy old fool, but I do know a thing or two about this game. I oversaw the operation myself; every scrap of evidence was photographed and catalogued before removal. The entire flat was subjected to our most sensitive tracking charms before it was cleaned. We went through it with a fine toothcomb before removing anything and a proper chain of evidence has been established. It has been done by the book, Harry.'

Harry felt his indignation somewhat assuaged. He realised that he did not really have any grounds for complaint; if things had been done as Robards described then correct procedure had been followed. He had one other question though.

'Why are you taking such an interest in this case? You normally prefer to remain in the background. This is Dawlish's case; do you not trust him?'

'Of course I trust him; he's a fine Auror and a good man.' Robards noticed the flash of distaste on Harry's face but ignored it. 'It's just that it was suggested to me that I might take a more prominent role in affairs as this was such a high profile case.'

'Suggested by whom?'

'It's not important, Harry.'

Harry gave his boss a steely glare. '_Mr_ Robards,' he began, 'we seem to have reached a little misunderstanding here.'

'A misunderstanding?'

'Yes. You seem to think that you are doing me a great courtesy by seeing me today; I want to disabuse you of that notion. I am Draco Malfoy's Soul Thief and as such carry the full authority of the law and of the Minister. I will decide what is and what is not important – not you. Now I will ask you again; suggested by whom?'

Robards was taken aback by the change in tone. He was unused to being addressed in such a manner by anyone, never mind a junior Auror. He was, however, aware that he was required to co-operate with a court appointed official. He sighed.

'Harry, it was not any one individual who suggested I get involved. You know I move in influential circles; my position demands that this be the case. A number of members of the Wizengamot urged me to take a more active role.'

'Who, exactly?'

'Loads of people, Harry. Including, I might add, the Chang family _and_ Lucius Malfoy. Also, Millicent Bagnold, Cornelius Fudge and Kingsley all advised me to keep an eye on things – that's two former and the current Minister, Harry; a lot of high level advice for a man to ignore. I believe that they wished to allay any concerns that the investigation may be mishandled – you are not the only one that wants to be certain of the facts in this case. However, I am not leading the investigation - Dawlish is still the senior officer, but he is reporting everything to me. I am merely overseeing things. Quietly.'

Harry concealed his surprise at this information. _The Chang family?_ _Lucius Malfoy?_ Lucius hadn't said anything about this; but then, he hadn't spoken to Harry at all since his appointment. He sighed, knowing he would need to question the elder Malfoy about this. _Yet another bloody interview to conduct._

'There are just a couple of other things I would like to ask,' he said.

'Fire away, Harry.'

'There are a few inconsistencies I would like to discuss. First; none of the neighbours were interviewed. Dawlish told me that you ordered this. Why?'

Robards sighed. 'Because there are Muggles in that apartment block, that's why. No one else in that building knows that a murder has taken place; I thought it would be easier on everyone to keep things that way.'

'But someone knows,' replied Harry. 'The anonymous source claimed to have heard screams so he – or she – was probably a neighbour. Did you not think to try to find out who it was?'

'I considered it, Harry, but decided that we did not need to know. Whoever the source is does not matter; all that matters is that they were correct. I decided that the hassle of trying to find out was not worth it. You know how this works; you have concealed methods and sources in the past too. It comes with the job.'

Harry didn't like it but had to admit that Robards had a point. He had reached a dead end.

'Thank you, Mr Robards,' he finally replied. 'That is all I wanted to know.'

Robards looked relieved. 'You're welcome Harry. If you need anything else, my door is always open.' Harry stood and shook the hand of his boss before turning and leaving the office. The case, he realised, was getting more complicated with each passing hour and he knew that for Draco Malfoy, an hour was an extremely precious commodity.

_I don't have enough time._

Hermione was experiencing a bittersweet moment as she flicked through one of the numerous files that Tom Proudfoot had suggested she examine. On the one hand, she was quite excited to be involved in an official investigation and her mind was stimulated by the many inconsistencies in the Malfoy case. She was also delighted that Harry had trusted her enough to ask her to look into Ron's case too. On the other hand, however, she was aware that she was examining the case notes that pertained to the murder of her fiancé; a man she had loved and a man she had known since first entering the magical world. Despite this conflict of emotions, she was still devoting her full attention to the matter at hand.

Tom had led her into a large archive room and had pointed out the filing cabinet that contained what she wanted. He had then excused himself, saying that he would see if he could find the missing key to Malfoy's flat. That had been ten minutes ago and Hermione had not noticed the time pass, so engrossed was she in the documents laid out before her. She was so caught up in what she was reading that she failed to notice another person enter the room.

'And what exactly do you think you are doing here, Miss Granger? This is a classified archive; you have no business here.'

Hermione turned, startled by the voice and was confronted by the glowering face of John Dawlish. The Auror did not look at all pleased to see her.

'I..I was examining some case notes…' she began.

'Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?' cut in Dawlish. 'It is an offence for unauthorised personnel to be in this room, never mind reading the documents. I am afraid that I must take you in for questioning.'

'Questioning?' asked Hermione, incredulity in her voice. It had not occurred to her that she was doing anything illegal.

'Yes,' replied Dawlish as he moved towards her, his wand out. 'I would suggest that you don't resist; you are in enough trouble as it is.'

Hermione was dumbstruck and made no move to resist as Dawlish grabbed her by the arm and twisted her round. 'Well, well,' he gloated, 'this _is_ a turn up for the books. The great Hermione Granger arrested for espionage.'

'Espionage?' asked Hermione in disbelief.

'Yes. This is what happens when you involve yourself with people like Potter. You have no idea how much trouble you are in.' He sounded positively ecstatic.

'Take your fucking hands of her right now, you piece of shit.'

Hermione turned, relieved, as she heard the familiar voice. _Harry._

''What's this, Potter?' asked Dawlish. 'Interfering in an official arrest? Not even you can do that.'

'I won't ask you again,' replied Harry. 'Let her go right now.' His voice was like steel.

John Dawlish thought he was on firm legal ground and as a result did not fully appreciate the danger. 'I think not, Potter,' he replied, twisting Hermione's arm further. 'I think that…'

Hermione would never find out what John Dawlish thought, for it was at that moment that Harry snapped. Moving with a speed that terrified her, he closed the distance between them and grabbed Dawlish by the collar. Lifting the Auror with ease, Harry dragged him across the room and thrust him hard into one of the filing cabinets. Dawlish fell to the ground but Harry quickly lifted him like a rag doll and pinned him against the cabinet, his forearm across the man's throat.

'If you ever touch her again I'll kill you,' hissed Harry, pressing harder against the man's throat. Hermione watched the scene in disbelief. Harry had a look of such rage about him that she was fearful of what he would do. She noticed that Dawlish was struggling to breathe, his face turning a shade of scarlet.

'Harry! Let him go, Harry! You're hurting him! He can't breathe!'

It took a few moments for her words to penetrate through to her friend but when they finally did, Harry – with some reluctance – stood back and removed his arm. Dawlish slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

'I'll break you for that you little shit,' he finally wheezed. 'I'll break you both. She has no authority to be here.'

Hermione closed her eyes, knowing that he spoke the truth and that they were both in deep trouble.

'She has _my_ authority, you bastard. I have appointed her as my assistant. She has the same authority as I do.'

Hermione hid her surprise at these words and watched as this startling revelation had the desired impact on Dawlish. He looked confused for a moment before the anger resurfaced. _Very clever, Harry._

'That makes no difference. It may get her off the hook but you have earned yourself a trip to Azkaban, Potter. You have assaulted a superior officer.'

'Assaulted?' scoffed Harry. 'All I did was rescue a senior Ministry employee from _unwanted advances_. You were interfering in the legitimate investigation of Draco Malfoy's Soul Thief and harrassing a senior Ministry Official.' These words hung in the air for a long moment. Hermione thought she was going mad.

'Unwanted advances?' asked Dawlish, doubt in his voice. 'Interfering?'

'Yes. You mention this little episode to _anyone_ and that is what we will claim. Think about it, Dawlish. It's our word against yours. The word of two of the heroes of the last war against that of a snivelling little piece of shit like you? Who do you think will be believed, _John?_'

Dawlish was silent for a long moment, the realisation dawning.

I suggest,' continued Harry, 'that you get your arse out of here right now before I do something really serious.'

Hermione watched as Dawlish rose unsteadily to his feet, his hand rubbing at his neck. There was a look of pure loathing on his features. 'I'll get you for this, Potter,' he hissed as he stumbled towards the door.

Hermione watched him depart and noticed that Harry regarded him dispassionately. Just as the Auror was about to go through the door he called him back.

'Dawlish?' snapped Harry. He waited until the man turned to face him. 'I meant what I said; if you ever lay a finger on her again I _will _kill you.'

Hermione sensed the truth in these words and noticed that John Dawlish also recognised the threat as genuine. With one last scowl, he staggered out the door. A long silence ensued.

'Harry?' she finally asked in a small voice. 'I don't know if I would have been willing to do that. I don't know if I would have been able to tell that lie, Harry.'

Surprisingly, Harry smiled. 'Of course you wouldn't have been able to tell the lie, Hermione. _I_ know that; but that little prick doesn't. Don't worry; he won't say a word. Not now.'

She nodded, still trembling from what had occurred. She had never seen Harry in such a state. Whilst it was true she had seen him lose his temper, she had never witnessed such a rage in her friend. It was as if an animal had been unleashed. She shook the thought away.

'Harry?' she asked again. 'What you said about appointing me as your assistant?'

He grimaced. 'I hope you don't mind, but it was all I could think of. If you are my assistant then you are entitled to be here. Don't worry; you can "resign" if you want,' he added.

She shook her head. 'I don't want to.' She noticed him start in surprise. 'I'd like to help, if that's OK?'

He regarded her for some time. 'I'd like that,' he finally replied, his voice thick. They stood facing each other for what seemed like an age, both digesting what had occurred. Hermione could not recall ever feeling quite so uncomfortable in the presence of her friend. Just as she was deciding what to say next, Tom Proudfoot entered the room and earned himself – in Hermione's eyes – a metaphorical medal.

'Hermione? I've found that key,' announced the Auror in triumph as he strode in to the room holding a brass key in a plastic bag. He immediately noticed the presence of Harry and his eyes took in the flustered looks on both their faces and the misaligned filing cabinets.

'What the hell's been going on here?' he asked.

Hermione turned to Harry and the two of them shared a long look. Then, despite everything that had happened, they both burst out laughing.

Draco Malfoy turned from his book at the sound of his cell door swinging open and stood to greet whoever had come to visit him. To his pleasure, he watched his mother enter his place of confinement and smile at him. He had been hoping that she would come and visit and had been disconcerted that she had not visited him more often over the past few days. _But then, she has been busy trying to get me out of here_, he thought to himself.

'Mother,' he said in greeting as he opened his arms and accepted her embrace. They stood holding one another for a long moment before Narcissa released her grip to stand back and examine him.

'How are you, Draco?' she asked, her concern evident.

There was no real answer to that, he knew. _How does she think I am? I'm trapped in a fetid cell and in a week's time I may have to face eternal oblivion. _Despite the reality of his situation, he managed a sardonic smile.

'I'm better now that you are here,' he replied. 'Do you have any news?'

'Not yet. I haven't spoken to Harry today, but I expect I will see him tonight.'

'He said he would visit me today,' replied Draco. Narcissa noticed a look of distaste flash across his features. 'Why did you employ him, mother? We have something of a history between us.'

'I employed him because there was no one else willing to take the case on. But now I am glad there _was_ no one else. You should be grateful, Draco; I believe that if anyone can get to the bottom of this it will be Harry. He already informed me of the elf.'

'Yeah, but what good will that do? How is he going to track down an elf?' He sighed in frustration and sat down. 'I must confess that I am not entirely comfortable with having him work on my behalf.'

Narcissa took some time before replying. Before she did, she too sat down and faced her son. 'Draco, there is something you should understand about Harry.' She looked thoughtful for a moment. 'When I heard of your arrest, I approached every person that I believed to be still on good terms with our family. All expressed sympathy, but all also washed their hands of the affair. Do you know that apart from me and your father, Harry is the only person that immediately accepted your innocence? All of our so-called friends assumed your guilt but Harry Potter believed you incapable of such a deed.'

Draco looked confused. 'Why would he think that? We were enemies for long enough.'

'It is perhaps for that very reason that he knows you to be innocent. You may not like each other, but I believe you understand one another very well. Harry knows what you are capable of, Draco, and is also aware of what you would not do. You should be grateful that he is on our side. I suggest that you remember this.'

Before he could reply, his attention was once again drawn to his cell door as it was swung open and – as if on cue – Harry Potter walked into the cell. He stopped abruptly when he saw Narcissa.

'Oh, sorry,' he said. 'I didn't realise you were here, Narcissa. I'll leave until you are finished.'

Both Narcissa and Draco stood. 'There is no need, Harry. If you need to speak to Draco alone then I should be the one to leave. You are more important than I at the moment.'

Harry smiled. 'I wouldn't go that far, but if you don't mind me being here then you should stay and listen. It will save me explaining it to you later.' He turned to Draco and held up his hand. In it was a key.

'Have you ever seen this before?' he asked.

Draco took the proffered key and examined it closely. 'No,' he finally replied. Should I have?'

Harry smiled, as if pleased by the answer. He was glad that Narcissa had had the wit to say nothing; it was important that Draco's responses were unprompted.

'That's what I was hoping you would say. This is they key for the front door of your flat.'

Draco looked astonished for a second before recognition kicked in. 'So it is,' he replied. 'What are you doing with it?'

'Dawlish told me that your door had been locked the morning you were found. Locked with this,' he added. 'They found it still in the door.'

'What? But I never use a key. I have never even taken it off the hook by the door – the previous owner left it there. What the hell would I use a key for?' His confusion was obvious. Harry smiled even broader.

'Good; that's exactly the answer I was looking for. Hermione was right.'

'Hermione?' asked Narcissa. 'What does she know of this?'

'I have appointed her as my assistant and you should be glad that I have. She suggested that the key would have been left on a hook. She also believes that whoever was in your flat that night assumed you _did_ use a key and so used it to lock you in. It's the first mistake they have made; they tried to be too clever in making it look as if only you and Cho had been in the room.'

'Granger believes I am innocent?' asked Draco.

'She does now. There is the issue with the key and there is also the fact that our "anonymous source" claimed to have seen the whole thing through your bedroom window.'

Draco considered this. 'But I am on the seventh floor! How could…' he tailed off, realisation dawning.

'Exactly. Someone else _must_ have been in your flat that night, Draco. There is no doubt about this.' Harry was surprised at the look of relief that flashed across Draco's face. 'What is it?'

'Thank Merlin,' breathed Draco as he closed his eyes. 'Thank Merlin; I didn't do it. I didn't think that I did but I couldn't be sure.' He opened his eyes again and looked directly at his former enemy. 'Thank you, Harry,' he said quietly. 'Whatever happens, at least I know that I am innocent.'

Harry hid his surprise at being addressed by his given name. He understood Draco's reaction, knowing that he too would want to know the truth if the roles were reversed. It still wasn't enough to exonerate him though.

'So what now, Harry?' asked Narcissa. She didn't seem too bothered by the revelation, but then, she had never believed Draco to be guilty in the first place. He considered her question.

'I have put a few feelers out, but it will be a few days before I hear anything back. Tomorrow, I intend to run down the Chang angle. I need to know why she was the victim. I'll be speaking to her family and I will have to try and track down her movements that night. It's not much to go on, but it's all I have at the moment. Tonight I will probably go over the case notes in more detail. Unless there is something else you would have me do?'

'Not at all, Harry,' replied Narcissa. 'It is your case to run; do what you think is best.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'In that case, I will not take up any more of your time. I will see you later, Narcissa.' He turned to Draco. 'I will probably call in on you tomorrow too, if that is acceptable.'

Both Draco and Narcissa nodded their acceptance and watched as Harry – with a final curt nod – left the cell. Once the door had been closed, Narcissa turned to her son.

'I told you that you were lucky to have him, didn't I?'

Draco didn't reply; he didn't need too. He was aware that his mother would know just how glad he was that Potter was indeed working on his behalf.

'So, is there any other business?' asked Hermione as she regarded her colleagues. The other three people seated around the conference table shook their heads. 'Great!' she exclaimed. 'Good meeting; well done everyone,' she added with a smile. She stood to escort her department heads from her office and on opening the door was perplexed to notice her secretary, Claire, give her a very knowing look. She followed the subtle movement of Claire's head and was surprised to see Harry sitting in her outer office, flipping through a magazine. He looked up and smiled.

'Well, if it isn't Harry Potter,' said Cuthbert Mockridge, former head of the Goblin Liaison office and now number two at the DMC. 'I don't think we have been formally introduced, Harry. I'm Cuthbert Mockridge and I am very pleased to meet you,' he added, offering his hand.

Harry had a guarded expression on his face as he took the proffered hand, but he kept his reply civil. 'Nice to meet you too.' He glanced at Hermione, who sensed his unease. He still wasn't comfortable around people, she realised. She tried to help him relax.

'Harry? These are my department heads. Cuthbert is putting my manners to shame here. This,' she continued, pointing to a second man, 'is Royden Poke. He works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.' She watched as Harry shook hands with the man before continuing. 'And I am sure you know who this is,' she finished.

'Harry,' said Amos Diggory curtly.

'Mr Diggory,' replied Harry, surprised. Then he remembered; Amos once worked in the same department as Royden Poke. He noticed that the man regarded him coolly but in all truth he could not blame him. Amos Diggory probably still wondered why Cedric had died that fateful night and not Harry. It was not a comfortable moment meeting this man again.

Hermione seemed to sense the awkwardness for she spoke again in a voice that was too affected for the situation. 'Well, thanks again, gentlemen. I will have the minutes forwarded to you as soon as they are complete.'

Harry watched as the three men exited the room, both Mockridge and Poke giving him a beaming smile as they did so. Once they were out, Hermione closed the door quietly behind them and leaned her head against it.

'What's wrong?' asked Harry.

'Oh, nothing really,' she replied, heading back to the inner office. Harry followed. 'It's just that those three can make life difficult for me sometimes.'

'In what way? You are the boss, after all.'

'That's why they make life difficult. 'I'm only twenty four, Harry; _and_ I'm a woman. Sometimes I think they have problems accepting my authority.'

Harry smiled. 'I don't know why. Just threaten them like you did me and you will be fine.'

She smiled in return at his jest. 'It's not that simple, Harry. Sometimes I think I have to be twice as good as them just to be taken seriously.'

'Then there is no problem, is there?' He noticed her look of confusion. 'You _are _twice as good as them, Hermione. At least twice as good.'

She blushed at his complement and decided to change the subject. 'So what brings you here? I was just about to leave for the night,' she said as she fetched her coat from the peg. She grabbed her bag and headed out of the door, Harry following in her wake.

'Me too. I was just heading off for the night – I have just been down to see Draco. I thought I would pop in to say goodnight before I left. That's not a problem, is it?' he asked as they reached the corridor.

'Of course it's not a problem, you idiot.' A sudden thought occurred to her. 'Where are you staying tonight?'

'Malfoy Manor. Why?'

'It's just that I was going to head over to the Burrow for tea. Do you want to come?' she asked carefully.

Harry was taken aback by the question; he still did not feel up to seeing the Weasleys, especially Ginny. 'I don't think so,' he finally replied.

'I think they would be really happy to see you, Harry. I think you should go.'

Harry temporised. 'Not tonight,' he finally managed. 'I'm tired – it's been a long day.' He noticed a very sceptical look on her face and desperately thought of something else to say. 'Maybe tomorrow?' he suggested and inwardly cursed his stupidity. He knew as soon as he had said it that he had given her an opening.

'Tomorrow? Great, Harry. I'll tell Molly you will be coming for lunch. She'll be delighted! See you tomorrow morning,' she added airily before abruptly turning on her heels and striding away to prevent him from replying. Harry could not see the grin that split her face. _Gotcha, Potter!_

Harry watched her go, aware of the futility of calling after her. She could have very selective hearing when it suited her, he knew. _Damn her! She knows exactly how to play me._

Then, despite himself, he smiled.


	9. Connections

**Connections**

The next morning, Harry sat enjoying a full cooked breakfast at the vast dining table in Malfoy Manor. He had managed a decent night's sleep – perhaps the first in months – and was feeling much better as a result. He sat alone and found the silence highly enjoyable. He had never been a morning person and found that the solitude was just what he needed to start the day. Solitude and three cups of strong coffee.

He glanced up as Narcissa entered the room and was struck once again at how she always managed to look a picture of poise and grace. She really was a fine looking woman and Harry was amused to discover that he thought Draco Malfoy's mother hot. He put these thoughts aside, however, as he noticed the stern look on her face.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Have you seen this, Harry?' she asked, handing him a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He took the proffered newspaper and flipped it open to reveal the front page. His eyes were immediately drawn to a large photograph of Hermione and he felt his own sense of unease grow as he began to read.

_**Surviving Members of Trio Unite to Free Malfoy**_

_**By Rita Skeeter – Chief Reporter**_

_The astonishing Malfoy case took yet another twist yesterday as it was revealed that Hermione Granger, head of the DMC and member of the famous trio, has been appointed as assistant to Harry Potter, Soul Thief of Draco Malfoy. This reporter has discovered that Granger (24) is now working closely with Potter in order to establish the truth behind the events that have led to the Malfoy heir facing the Dementor's Kiss. In a move that will…_

Harry stopped reading – he had seen enough. He looked directly at Narcissa.

'Did you mention this to anyone?'

She shook her head. 'Of course not.'

'That's what I thought.' He threw the paper onto the table. 'I never mentioned it to anyone either so it begs the question – how did she find out?'

'Have you any ideas?'

'A few. It would appear that Rita has a very good source among the Aurors.' He noticed Narcissa raise an eyebrow in question and decided to explain further. 'The only other person who knew is John Dawlish and only because I had to tell him in order to get us out of a tight spot.'

Narcissa looked curious but did not press for details. 'Do you think it was him?'

'I wouldn't be surprised, but he isn't necessarily the one. You can bet that he would have told everyone else in the department within minutes of finding out, so it could be any one of them. It means I can't trust anyone in that office.' He leaned back in his chair. 'I'm not happy about this; I didn't realise that Hermione would be thrust into the limelight so soon. She's going to spit when she sees this.' He held his head in his hands. _Shit._

'So what are you going to do now?' asked Narcissa.

'I'm going to see Hermione and tell her she can step back if she wants. She won't want to though,' he added with a grim smile. 'Then I think I will need to arrange a little meeting with our old friend Rita. I need to know what else she has discovered about this case.' He noticed a look of surprise on Narcissa's face. 'Don't underestimate her, Narcissa; Rita has her own sources and methods and it is possible that she has heard something that we haven't. She's an absolute cow but she does have a knack of finding things out. I'll see her in the next few days.'

Narcissa nodded her understanding. 'What else?'

'I hope to speak to the Chang family today. If I can discover why Cho was the victim then I will have a fair chance of discovering who is responsible. I suspect that Cho was killed for a reason though for the life of me I can't think why.'

'You think there is more to it than just merely framing Draco?'

'Yes. If this was merely an exercise to attack your family then the identity of the victim would be irrelevant. However, Cho is the daughter of a rather influential family and I can't help but think that there is something behind this. I mean; why her? Draco hasn't seen her since school and believe me, he wasn't her type. It doesn't add up,' he added, the frustration evident in his voice.

'Anything else?' asked Narcissa.

'I'm going to pay a social call too if that's OK. I think I am going to visit the Weasleys for lunch. I hope you don't mind.'

'Mind? Why should I mind?'

'Because when I am there I will not be working on the case. Time is precious.'

Narcissa looked thoughtful for a moment. 'It is, Harry, but you cannot devote every second of the day to the investigation. You will burn out if you do and then you will be of no use to Draco.' She smiled. 'I know I have something of a reputation for severity but _I think_ I can allow you to have some lunch, Harry.'

Harry smiled in return pleased to know that Narcissa still retained a sense of humour despite everything that had happened.

Hermione was enjoying her first cup of coffee of the morning as she mused on the events of the previous few days. Had someone told her a week ago that she would now be assisting Harry in investigating a murder she would have thought them mad, but she knew from experience that life could throw up the most unlikely circumstances at times. It didn't matter to her what had brought them together again; what was important in her view was the simple fact that Harry had returned – he had come back to her.

She was well aware that Harry was not the same person as a year ago, but then – as Arthur had pointed out – who was? She had to admit to herself, though, that the events of last year had affected her dearest friend more than anyone. If she was honest, this new Harry had intimidated her a little at first and she had actually been a little afraid of him. Ironically, it was the sight of his rage at Dawlish that allayed these fears. Initially, she had been terrified to see the violence of her friend but she now realised that the rage had only been unleashed in defence of her. Harry had always been fiercely protective of those he cared about and she reckoned that his anger yesterday had been a manifestation of this concern. This gave her some cause for hope.

She had been watching him closely since his return and had felt her heart almost break as he tentatively reached out for the lifeline she offered. He was definitely letting his guard down and becoming more at ease, but it occurred to her that this only happened when she was alone with him. His discomfort in her office at meeting her department heads had been obvious, but once they had left, something of the old Harry had returned. _It was a start._

She was also aware that there had been a few uncomfortable moments between them and wondered if it was merely down to Harry's current fragility. When he had held her at the window in Malfoy's flat she had sensed something more than mere consideration over her dislike of heights. She shivered. No one had held her like that since…well, since Harry, if she was honest with herself. Whilst Ron had been her first - and only – lover, she had never felt as secure; as safe – almost as if she _belonged_ - in _his_ arms as she had in Harry's yesterday. Harry had never been a demonstrative person, but on those rare occasions in the past when he had held her, she had sensed the fierce protectiveness that was as much a part of him as his skin.

But when they had locked eyes by the window, Hermione had caught a glimpse of…_something_ – she couldn't quite put her finger on what, though. She had felt drawn to him for a brief moment before he had suddenly moved. When they had broken apart she had sensed the inner turmoil in her friend and for a few seconds they had regarded each other like strangers. The problem was that she was having difficulty reading him; he was bottling so much up that it was hard to tell what exactly was lurking behind his barriers. There was no doubt in her mind that he was holding something back, but she didn't know what it was and it irked her because she believed that whatever it was would be the key to unlocking his defences. Was it something he had done while in self imposed exile? Perhaps it was the outstanding issues of guilt and remorse?

_Or perhaps,_ she considered for the first time_, I can't figure it out because it is something he has always been keeping from me._

She turned suddenly at a knock on her leaned forward in her chair in order to compose herself.

'Come in!'

The door swung open and Harry strolled in, a grim look on his face.

'Have you seen this?' he asked without preamble as he thrust a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ towards her.

'And good morning to you too, Harry,' she replied, a hint of asperity in her tone. Then she noticed the look on his face. She grabbed the paper from his hand and flipped to the front page. On seeing her own image splashed underneath the lurid headline, she felt an overwhelming sense of anger surge through her.

'That bloody bitch!' she exclaimed. 'That foul, evil…'

'I know,' said Harry, interrupting her tirade. He looked directly at her. 'You can walk away if you want,' he said quietly. He lowered his eyes. 'I know you don't like being in the spotlight.'

She took her time before replying, taking a moment to study her friend. He was right, of course; she hated being in the spotlight, but she had to confess that the events of the past few days had given her a new lease of life. It occurred to her that she had hardly thought of Ron at all recently; and while she did feel a pang of guilt about this, the enjoyment she was deriving from accompanying Harry on this case more than assuaged any feelings of remorse. She also noticed that Harry was deliberately avoiding her gaze right now.

'Not a chance, Harry,' she finally replied. 'There's no way I'm walking away from this – or you,' she added. She noticed a flash of relief flash across his face for a moment and knew that she had made the correct decision.

'Thank you,' he replied. He looked directly at her once again. 'I'm glad.'

She tried to hold his gaze but wilted under his scrutiny. He was looking at her with such intensity that she felt he was looking into her. She sought desperately to change the subject.

'How did Rita find out?' she asked, her voice thick.

Harry shrugged. 'I have my suspicions. Did you tell anyone?' he asked.

'No! I never told a soul – not even the Weasleys when I saw them last night.'

Harry nodded. 'That's what I thought. So who did talk?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Dawlish,' she hissed.

'I don't think there is any doubt about that – he was the only one we told. But,' he added, holding up a finger, 'it was not necessarily Dawlish who told Rita. It's just as plausible that he told the entire office once he found out. It could have been anyone.'

She conceded the logic of this. 'So we still have no idea who the leak is?'

'No; but I suggest we go and speak to Rita when we get a chance.' He glanced at his watch. 'Not today though; we have an appointment with Cho's father this morning – Kingsley arranged at all for me yesterday. Do you know anything about him?'

She puffed out her cheeks as she considered his question. 'Not really,' she finally replied. 'I know that the Chang family are very rich; richer even than the Malfoys. They are not an entirely magical family - apparently they deal quite a bit with the Muggle world as well as ours. Fingers in a lot of pies from what I can gather. They are very influential in the Wizengamot too; we have been spending a lot of time and effort to gain their support recently and I think we are starting to convince them.'

'I've been meaning to ask you about that,' said Harry. 'How come you are dealing with Fudge?'

She noticed the accusing stare he was giving her but decided to ignore it. 'I know you don't like him, Harry; neither do I for that matter. But he has been doing some important work for us. I was not too happy about it at first but Kingsley convinced me that we sometimes have to work with those we don't like. It's not as if we are bosom buddies – he serves a purpose, that's all. He's been working on the Changs for some time now. We think their support will be crucial.'

Harry regarded her for some time before finally shrugging, dismissing the matter as irrelevant. Instead of pursuing things further, he reached over and grabbed Hermione's coat.

'C'mon; we have a lot to get through today.'

Feeling strangely relieved, Hermione took the offered jacket and led them out of her office.

Forty minutes later found Harry and Hermione standing at the front door of a plush town house in the St James' district of central London. It was a very exclusive address, close to both Westminster and the palace and it was evident that the people who lived in this neighbourhood were serious players. The façades of the various buildings positively reeked of power and influence.

Hermione watched as Harry pulled on an old fashioned bell to the right of the imposing black door. After a few moments, it swung open and an immaculately attired butler stood before them, regarding them imperiously.

'Can I help you Sir? Madam?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, formally. 'Could you please inform the master of the house that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger have arrived? He is expecting us.'

'Of course, sir. Please come in,' the butler replied. As he led them into a small drawing room just of the hallway, Hermione shared a look with her friend as they both sat down on comfy leather Chesterfield armchairs. She had always suspected that Cho had come from wealthy stock but had no idea just how rich her family was. This was a different world to anything she had ever encountered. Even the Malfoys could not fail to be impressed by the understated wealth of this house. The other thing that struck her as she cast her glance around the room was the _Muggleness_ of the whole setting. Examination of the various portraits and ornaments that adorned the room provided no clue that the owners were magical.

'Is there anything else you can remember about them?' asked Harry in a low voice.

She shrugged. 'Not really. I reckon you know as much as I do now. Kingsley always said that the Chang family were important in our world but he didn't go into detail.'

Harry nodded his acceptance at her words and lapsed back into silence. Almost five minutes passed in this manner, the only sound being the incessant _tick-tock_ from a rather grand clock that adorned the far wall. Finally, the door opened and they were confronted once more by the haughty butler.

'Sir? Madam? Please follow me.'

They were led past a number of grand rooms until they finally reached a sturdy wooden door at the end of the hall. Thrusting it open and standing aside to allow them to enter, the butler announced their arrival.

'Mr Harry Potter and Ms Hermione Granger to see you, sir,' he intoned.

Hermione was finding the situation faintly ridiculous; this was like something out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. No one employed butlers in the Magical World; House Elves were the preferred servant of the Magical elite. She entered the room and her attention was immediately drawn to a tall, thin man of Asian extraction who stood in front of a large Mahogany desk. He nodded his head to them both.

'Mr Potter, Miss Granger? I am Cheng-Yung Chang. How can I be of assistance?'

'Thank you for agreeing to see us,' replied Harry. 'I know that this is not an easy time for you.'

Chang inclined his head in acknowledgment of the words. 'Please; sit down,' he said, indicating to two seats by the desk. Hermione sat and watched Harry do the same. Both chairs were low and placed them at a disadvantage. Chang remained standing.

'I must confess,' began Chang, 'that I was pleased to hear of your appointment, Mr Potter. The evidence certainly points to the guilt of Mr Malfoy but I think it is prudent to be sure in such matters.'

_Such matters?_ thought Hermione. This was the murder of his daughter that was being discussed. _Did the man have no feelings?_ She turned as Harry cleared his throat.

'I agree Mr Chang. That is why we are here. I would be grateful if you could provide any information on Cho's movement the night she died.'

Chang sighed. 'There is not much to tell I'm afraid. We had been hosting a party here when Cho told us that she had received a message and had to leave. I naturally assumed that she had a date. Indeed, that was the impression she gave to me.'

'Did she say who she was going to meet?' asked Harry.

'No.'

'Had she mentioned seeing anyone prior to that evening?'

'No. I did not pry too much into my daughter's affairs. You may learn one day that a father should not ask too many questions of his daughter for fear of receiving answers that do not please him.'

Harry suppressed a sigh; this was going nowhere. 'Can I ask who else attended the party?'

Chang considered him for a moment. 'It was a private affair, Mr Potter. A small gathering – only about thirty or so. Most of the guests were Muggles.' He noticed the looks of surprise on the faces of his inquisitors and smiled for the first time. 'You find this strange, I presume? I should explain that my interests are not merely confined to our world. I have prominent associates in the Muggle world too. This is why I keep such a house as this. Our estate in the country would perhaps more suit your magical tastes.'

'Would it be possible for me to see the guest list?' asked Harry.

Chang took a moment to answer. Finally he nodded. 'Of course, Mr Potter; that should not present a problem. I will have it sent to you.'

'Thank you. Just a few more questions, if you don't mind?' Chang nodded his assent. 'Where did Cho work?'

This brought a reaction from the man, his face displaying a hint of distaste. 'She worked at Gringotts, Mr Potter; although I would rather she had not. She handled some of the more…prestige accounts on behalf of the bank. I am sure that you will appreciate that some of the wealthier elements of our society, while content to bank at Gringotts, still prefer to deal with a human in certain affairs. This was Cho's role. Something troubles you, Miss Granger?' he asked suddenly.

Hermione flushed, realising that she must have let her annoyance show at the sort of person who did not like dealing with the Goblins directly. 'No; it's just that this unfortunate event has affected me somewhat,' she lied.

'Quite understandable,' replied Chang. 'I believe you both knew my daughter at Hogwarts? She mentioned you both on occasion, particularly you Mr Potter,' he added.

Harry ignored the irrelevancy. This was turning out to be a complete waste of his time. He decided to change tack. 'I understand you advised Gawain Roberts to take a more active role in the investigation. Might I ask why?'

For the first time, Hermione noticed a flash of impatience on the man's features. It had been fleeting – almost invisible; but she had seen it.

'As I said earlier,' replied Chang, 'I think it prudent to be sure in these matters. I just wanted to be certain that the case was being handled properly. Mr Robards is a man of some experience. Is there anything else?' The question was almost a dismissal.

Harry decided that he did not like Mr Chang very much and allowed some of his irritation to show. 'I would like a look around Cho's room,' he said flatly. 'I also want a look at any papers she may have left.'

Chang considered the request for some time. Finally he nodded. 'Of course, Mr Potter. Cho had her own apartment but I will arrange for you to gain access. I will have my man provide you with the necessary information. Is this satisfactory?'

'More than satisfactory. I think that is everything,' replied Harry evenly. He relented somewhat. 'And thank you for your time.'

'Your welcome, Mr Potter,' replied Chang as he reached for and pulled a bell rope, 'I will have my man show you out. Please do not hesitate to contact me again if you require further information.'

_Yeah, right,_ thought Hermione. _Information? He had told them nothing._

'Thank you Mr Chang,' said Harry, getting to his feet. In a moment the door swung open and – after a brief wait for the location of Cho's apartment - the two friends found themselves on the pavement outside in the morning sunshine. Hermione looked at Harry.

'That was a waste of time, wasn't it?'

To her surprise, Harry smiled in return. 'Maybe not,' he replied, somewhat cryptically in her opinion. He noticed her look of confusion and decided to elaborate. 'Sometimes you can tell a lot about someone by what they don't say. He's not happy that I asked to see the guest list and he's not happy that I want into Cho's flat either. It wouldn't surprise me if there are a few things missing from both. He's up to something.'

'You don't think he's involved with the murder of his own daughter, do you?' she asked, incredulity in her voice.

Harry smiled at her naivety. 'As it happens, no; I don't _think_ he's involved, but I wouldn't rule it out either. You'd be surprised at what people are capable of.' He glanced at his watch. 'C'mon, we have time to visit her apartment before lunch,' he said, as he headed off towards The Mall.

Hermione sighed in frustration before hastening to catch up. She was beginning to wonder if she was cut out for this sort of thing.

Harry cursed as he closed yet another folder and placed it on top of an ever growing pile on the desk in front of him. Since arriving at Cho's apartment he had found nothing of relevance to the case and he was beginning to wonder if he was leading them on a wild goose chase. He glanced up at Hermione who was still poring over Cho's diary. She had found it almost immediately and Harry still marvelled at her powers of reasoning and deduction.

On first entering the room, Hermione had made an immediate beeline for the well stacked bookcase on the far wall. There were books on Magical History; on Quidditch and Charms; books on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. In fact, there had been books on just about every aspect of the magical world that a person could think of. He had been amused at her behaviour; it didn't matter where she was, Hermione was always drawn towards books. He had watched for a few moments as she cast her eye over the various tomes on display before he had turned to begin the search for the room. That was when she had let out an explanation of surprise.

'_Harry? Look at this.'_

_He'd wandered over to join her and had noticed that she held a rather large book in her hand. She held it up to show him the title._

"_The Complete Works of William Shakespeare."_

_He had looked at her in bemusement, before shrugging._

_Hermione had sighed at his obtuseness. 'How many witches or wizards have you ever seen read Shakespeare, Harry?'_

_He'd considered the question, suddenly aware that the obvious answer was none. Well, none if you didn't count the witch standing in front of him. That was when she had opened the cover and he'd been astonished at what lay within._

_Cho's diary._

He still could not fathom how she had made the connection that something was awry when she had spotted the Muggle book in amongst the magical tomes. It occurred to him that only a Muggleborn would have noticed such a discrepancy and even then, only a particularly well read Muggleborn would have been suspicious at the presence of such a book and would have considered that something was amiss. After noticing her quiet satisfaction at the discovery, he'd been happy to let her be the one to go through it. He still had some scruples about reading someone else's diary – especially a woman's and especially someone he knew.

He watched as she licked her index finger before turning over a page. She was completely oblivious to anything else and he was captivated by the look of fierce concentration on her face. He knew that Hermione loved an intellectual challenge and he was happier than he would care to admit that she had decided to remain with him on the case. He was feeling the old pull; the pull that he'd been fighting for years and he found to his surprise that he was finding it harder than ever to keep his guard up. He told himself that he only wanted her with him because he needed her intelligence and insight, but he knew – deep down – that this was only partly true. If he was honest, he had to admit that he just wanted her close to him at the moment for his own sense of wellbeing. He felt twice the man he actually was when he was with her. His resolve to remain aloof had crumpled almost as soon as he made contact with her again and his greatest concern now was the possibility that he would slip up and reveal too much to her.

With a sigh, he removed another handful of parchment from the pile of unread items. He'd been surprised at the sheer volume of paperwork that Cho kept in her house but he'd quickly come to realise that she had been something of a magpie when it came to possessions. The good news was that Cho had been an extremely well organised individual; the various documents had been sorted by category and then in date order. He had even found a neat pile of old homework essays from their time at Hogwarts. In this respect, Cho was an ideal victim, for if a clue existed, it would be somewhere in this room.

He glanced at the next piece of parchment and immediately sensed that something was wrong. It took him a few moments to work out what was amiss but when the realisation finally hit he felt a sudden surge of excitement. He quickly flipped through the remaining pile to confirm his suspicions.

'Hermione?' he began quietly, 'How far back have you managed to reach in the diary?'

He noticed Hermione regard him with a curious look before answering. 'I've only managed to go back six months so far and I haven't found anything useful. It's not a particularly sordid diary – mainly it just deals with her work and stuff. Why do you want to know?'

Harry took his time before answering. 'Could you check back a bit further? Say around the time of Ron's death?' he asked as casually as he could. He noticed that her curiosity was really piqued now.

'What is it Harry?'

He sighed. 'Have you noticed how organised Cho was? I mean, everything is categorised and in date order. It's unbelievable.'

Despite the situation, Hermione smiled. 'I had noticed, Harry, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Just because you are disorganised doesn't mean everyone is. Cho's system isn't very different from my own. Now can you tell me what's wrong?'

'There is stuff missing,' he replied. There's a two week gap in her documents and it relates to the time Ron was killed.' He had tried to sound nonchalant but his voice had sounded hoarse. 'I was thinking that someone has already been in here and removed some papers. I also think that whoever has done this wouldn't have discovered the diary. No one else is as brilliant as you.'

He noticed her flush at his complement before the full implications of his words hit home. Her coy look changed to one of astonishment before she quickly turned her attention to the diary. She flipped back furiously through the pages until she reached the relevant dates. Harry watched with a growing sense of anticipation. After a few minutes she finally looked up and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

'What's wrong?' he asked in concern as he moved towards her. 'What is it?'

Hermione didn't reply. Instead, she proffered the diary towards him and he turned his attention to the page. He noticed that it was dated two days before Ron's death. With a trembling hand he took the diary from Hermione and began to read.

And there it was; the break they had been looking for written in the neat, round handwriting of their former schoolmate.

_Tuesday - 1.30pm. Meeting with R.W. re transfers._

He looked up at Hermione, the realisation dawning.

_R.W. _

_Oh, Ron; what the hell did you get yourself involved with?_


	10. Reunion

Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who has taken the trouble to review. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story.

**Reunion**

Harry tried to suppress his feeling of nervousness as he and Hermione made their way down the meandering lane that led from Ottery St. Catchpole to the Burrow. He was aware that both of them were still struggling to come to terms with the information discovered in Cho's diary and as a result conversation had been limited since their departure from the flat. He had removed everything he thought to be of value and deposited these items in Hermione's office, with the exception of the diary – Hermione had shrunk this down and had kept it on her person for safety. It was the only proof they had that something was amiss and he felt better for knowing that it was within easy reach.

Almost by unspoken agreement, both had decided to refrain from dealing with this latest development until after their lunch with the Weasleys. They had only briefly discussed it and even then it was only to confirm that nothing of the matter should be revealed for the time being. He thought that this meeting was going to be difficult enough without broaching the subject of Ron's murder.

The lane twisted round a small clump of trees and there it was; the Burrow in all its absurd glory. Despite his nerves, Harry could not help but smile as his eyes took in the familiar ramshackle cottage. He looked with fondness on the lopsided storeys and the five chimney pots; the cauldrons and old boots by the kitchen door and the garage where Arthur spent so much of his spare time trying to unravel the mysteries of the Muggle universe. He knew that this house had been a second home to him over the years and he could still feel the warmth and welcome that seemed to emanate from the old stone bricks and crooked windows. _Some things went deeper than magic_, he thought to himself.

Before he had gotten to within a hundred yards of the back door, it was suddenly swung open and a pile of redheads emerged into the summer sunshine. He glanced at Hermione who seemed to sense his uncertainty and who reached out and gave his hand a soft squeeze.

'It will be fine, Harry. They are glad you came back; this is your family, remember. There are no enemies here; only ghosts,' she added softly.

He regarded her for a moment, oblivious to the approaching Weasleys; aware only that his friend had been disturbed by the events of the morning. He began to question the wisdom of having her assist him when his attention was drawn towards a voice that was getting louder with each passing second.

'Harry! Oh, Harry! Welcome back!' exclaimed Ginny as she raced up to him and thrust her arms around him in a tight embrace. He stood totally rigid for a few moments before he finally drew his arms around the woman that he should have been married to by now. Ginny was crying into his chest – something he always had difficulty dealing with – but when he caught a look at her face he noticed that she was smiling. Her evident pleasure at seeing him did much to allay his fears.

'Hi, Ginny,' he finally managed, his voice hoarse. 'It's good to be back,' he added and surprised himself by realising that this was true. For all his bluster; for all his attempts to distance himself from magic, he realised now with certainty that this was where he belonged. Hermione was right; the Weasleys _were_ his family, despite everything that had happened.

'I'm sorry,' he began. 'Sorry for…'

'Don't you dare, Harry Potter!' exclaimed Ginny as she drew herself out of the embrace to face him. 'You have nothing to apologise for so I don't want to hear another word about it. Understood?' she asked through her tears.

He could only nod mutely, glancing away and becoming aware that the rest of the Weasleys were drawing closer. It occurred to him that they must have let Ginny race ahead in order to give them some time together first. _Well, we were engaged_, he thought, suddenly realising what needed to be done. He glanced back to Ginny. 'We'll talk later, right?' he asked quietly.

Ginny nodded and stepped aside as Arthur approached. Harry held out his hand but was surprised when the older man walked straight past it and gripped him in a ferocious bear hug that lifted him from the ground, almost squeezing the air out of his lungs.

'Welcome back, Harry,' said Arthur, the emotion evident in his voice. He released his grip and held him by the shoulders as he looked straight into his eyes. 'We've missed you. We've all missed you; it's so good to see you again.' He seemed to sense Harry's unease and continued in a quieter voice. 'What's done is done, Harry. There will be no recriminations here; we're all just glad to have you back.'

Harry nodded his appreciation and fought back the tears that threatened to burst forth. He had often wondered just how much the Weasleys held him responsible for what had happened but the evident warmth and sincerity of Arthur and Ginny's welcome finally made him realise that he should never have left. He glanced at Hermione and saw that she was crying, but it was with a smile on her face that his best friend was watching the reunion.

He turned as Molly Weasley finally caught up with the others, pushing her way past Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy and George before smothering him in an embrace that made Arthur's seem like a childish cuddle. For once, she made no comment, content only to hold him like the long lost son that he knew she considered him. After what seemed like an age, she finally released her grip and stepped back to have a good look at him, taking in the changes – noting especially how he had filled out.

'Oh, Harry,' she began, tears in her eyes but a hint of amusement in her voice. 'Come inside for some lunch.' Her eyes twinkled through the tears. 'You're so thin,' she added softly, bringing smiles to everyone present as they realised the lie and the reason for saying it.

Harry couldn't speak; could only nod his acceptance at the welcome and allowed himself to be drawn into the house.

Just over an hour later, Harry sat back in his chair and let out a contented sigh. He hadn't eaten such a fine meal in nearly a year and his stomach was alerting his brain of this fact. It had been a typical Molly Weasley extravaganza; dishes piled high with a variety of home made foods and he had been encouraged to place more and more in front of him. He reckoned he's had enough to feed a small army and he smiled sadly as he thought of just how much Ron would have enjoyed such a feast.

There had been awkwardness at first; when everyone had sat down there had been a strange formality to proceedings, almost as if everyone didn't know quite how to behave. As a result, the start of the meal had been conducted with excessive courtesy and decorum. He smiled to himself, recalling a phrase he had once heard; they were acting with the contrived politeness of those who had just fought a duel.

Thankfully, this hadn't lasted long; no table group that included Bill, Charlie and George Weasley could stand on ceremony for any length of time. It had been George who had broken the ice by casually asking him if he had "taken a little shine to Draco Malfoy". Why else, George had asked, would Harry have been so willing to help his former enemy? Bill had gone one further, suggesting that he had only taken the case on because his name had been out of the newspapers for more than three minutes.

He had played along and had glared at George and Bill for a moment before breaking into a smile. That had been the cue for everyone to join in the laughter. It wasn't that anything was particularly amusing; more that it was with a sense of relief that everyone present realised that they _could_ laugh. After that, proceedings had taken on a more relaxed air.

Now as he sat back and tried to digest his lunch, he wondered how he had managed to survive without all of this to sustain him. He glanced across at Hermione and caught her watching him. He suppressed a smile; he had become aware that she had been keeping an eye on him since first arriving, almost as if she were protecting him from attack. He noticed the concern in her eyes and gave her an almost imperceptible, reassuring nod_. I'm OK. Thanks for caring._

He noticed the corners of her mouth turn up slightly and knew that she had understood his unspoken message. They held each others gaze for a moment before being interrupted by Ginny.

'So, Hermione,' she began. 'When were you planning on telling us this little titbit?' she asked, holding up the front page of the _Prophet_. 'Assistant to a Soul Thief? And you sat with us last night and never said a word!' she added, the amusement evident in her voice.

Hermione flushed. 'Well,' she began, 'I didn't…that is I couldn't…'

'I asked her not to say anything,' said Harry. All heads turned towards him, surprised at the interruption. He hadn't meant to sound so brusque but he was not enjoying Hermione's discomfort. He realised he had spoken sharply and moderated his tone. 'I didn't want anyone to know but somehow Rita found out. Don't blame Hermione for keeping secrets; it's my fault. We would have told you all today, but the _Prophet_ beat us to it.'

'No problem, Harry,' said Charlie with a smile. 'So how's the case going? Learned anything juicy yet? Did Malfoy do it? C'mon; spill the beans.'

'Now, Charlie, we shouldn't be prying,' said Arthur. 'I'm sure Harry would rather keep what he knows confidential. We should not be noseying too much into this affair. There is enough speculation about it without you lot sticking your oars in.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Harry? Now that we have all finished such a wonderful meal, would you mind if we had a quick word in private?' he asked as he got to his feet.

'Sure. No problem,' Harry replied, curious at the request. He stood and followed Arthur towards the living room catching the looks of interest on those remaining at the table. _What could this be about?_

On entering the living room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the clock on the wall. The arrows showed that the entire Weasley family were all "home" but he noticed with sadness that there were now only seven hands on the clock. Two were gone; those of Fred and Ron were no longer visible.

'They fell off,' explained Arthur in a soft voice as he followed Harry's gaze. Harry turned to the elder Weasley, noting the sadness in his eyes. 'The hands fell off when the boys died,' continued Arthur with a sigh. 'There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about them. They should both be alive today and enjoying their lives.' Arthur shook his head. 'Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for us to stay out of the war – to stay out of everything.'

'You know that's not what Fred and Ron would have said. They would never have stopped fighting for what they believed in, even if they had known how it was going to turn out.'

Arthur regarded him for a moment. 'Thank you for saying that, Harry. As it happens, I know that to be true, but I can't help myself from _wondering,_ if you know what I mean. Wondering about what could have – should have been.'

Harry nodded his understanding, knowing only too well what Arthur meant. He still wondered about how his life could have been different. _If only my parents hadn't died; if only I hadn't been marked by Voldemort; if only I had been able to grow up in a world where those I loved weren't taken from me._

_If only I hadn't lied to Ron when asked the one question that mattered._

_If, if, if._ He smiled suddenly; a twisted grin that hid the bitterness as he recalled the words of his old skipper in Peterhead. "_It's_ n_o use dwelling on "ifs", Harry. "If" is something we cannot change. After all, if your Auntie had balls, she'd be your uncle."_

It was a crude expression, but he understood fully the sentiment behind it. There was no use dwelling on what could have been; all a person ought to do was concentrate on what might yet _be_.

He watched as Arthur strode over to the cabinet next to the old wooden wireless and proceeded to pour out two glasses of firewhiskey. He gratefully took the offered glass and slumped onto the sofa. Arthur took the armchair facing him.

'Cheers, Harry. It's so good to have you home.'

He didn't reply; instead he saluted Arthur with his glass before taking a drink. Then he sat back and regarded the older man, a questioning look on his face.

'I don't really know where to begin,' said Arthur. 'So much has happened to us all in the past year that it is difficult to know where to start. I suppose I should begin by apologising for causing you to feel responsible for what happened to Ron.'

'There's no need. It was…'

'There is every need,' interrupted Arthur. 'You have always been considered a part of this family, Harry; and yet some of us turned on you when we needed to stick together. Molly and I lost a son; my children lost a sibling; Hermione lost her fiancé; but you, Harry; you lost a friend and brother both, did you not?'

Harry nodded, feeling miserable.

'We should have been there for you. We should all have been there for each other. When you left, it was like losing another son,' continued Arthur.

Harry stared into his glass. There was nothing he could say to this man that could adequately express the love and respect he had for him. Despite everything that had happened, Arthur Weasley contained not a hint of bitterness; only a deep sorrow and regret and a consideration for others that defied belief. 'I don't blame anyone, Arthur,' he finally managed. 'Everyone was so upset. I was still trying to deal with the guilt. I blamed myself for what happened – I still do.'

'Is this why you have taken on the Malfoy case?' asked Arthur.

Harry looked up at the older man, astonished. Arthur noticed the look and smiled.

'I may not be considered the sharpest tool in the box, Harry; but I do know a thing or two about our world. You think Malfoy's case might be connected to Ron's death, don't you?'

Harry could only nod his mute admission.

'I thought so,' continued Arthur. He stood up and began to pace the room. 'This is what I wanted to speak to you about. I wanted to warn you.'

'Warn me?'

'Yes. You don't think Malfoy did it, do you?'

'No, I don't.'

'I thought as much,' replied Arthur. He stopped pacing and looked directly at Harry. 'If you are correct then you need to watch your step. You are dealing with someone powerful and ruthless enough to kill a Chang, frame a Malfoy and possibly murder Ron – don't assume that you will be immune from attack too.' He sighed. 'I know that many people don't have a high opinion of me, but I do understand a lot more than people think. Possibly the only benefit of getting older is that one also gets wiser. I have been working for the Ministry for over thirty years and in that time I have learned a thing or two about human nature. Something is going on at the moment; there is an atmosphere in that building that does not bode well. Watch your step.'

'An atmosphere? Have you heard anything?'

'Nothing concrete, but my antenna is twitching. I have never sought power – all I wanted to do was to make a difference – but there are those within the Ministry who would crawl over the bodies of their own children to gain office. Kingsley is an astute man but he is not a politician. I think he may be vulnerable and he doesn't even realise it. Remember; what happened five years ago left a lot of scars; there is still a lot of scores to be settled and I fear that this is what is happening right now. Please be careful.'

Harry didn't know what to say to this. It had not occurred to him that he might be in danger. _And Hermione_, he suddenly realised with a chill.

Arthur smiled, as if reading his thoughts. 'Don't cut her loose, Harry. I'm glad Hermione is helping you; she was always good at looking after you. You need her – you have always needed her. And the change in her since your return has been a source of joy to me. You need each other and the sooner you realise this, the better. Don't let her slip out of your grasp again.'

Harry regarded him in confusion. 'Slip out of my grasp?'

Arthur smiled again; a strangely sad smile that conveyed almost everything that he had been through over the years. 'Yes; "slip out of your grasp." You let her go once, Harry; I would recommend that you do not do so again – it would be like cutting one of your own limbs off.'

'Again? But Ginny…'

'Ginny is my only daughter and I love her more than life itself, but we both know she was never the one for you.'

Harry was dumbfounded. 'How?...What?...'

'I told you I knew a thing or two about human nature didn't I? I watched you grow up, Harry. I watched you develop into the fine young man you have become. Please do not insult me by suggesting that I did not notice where your true affections lie.'

'But you never said a word! I was engaged to your daughter. Ron was going to marry Hermione! Why didn't you say anything?'

'What was I supposed to say? That I thought you were all making a mistake? No; Ron loved Hermione and Ginny loved you. In a way it was a perfect outcome; it would mean that I could keep my family together. But life doesn't work that way, does it, Harry?' This last question was said as a challenge.

He held Arthur's gaze for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he looked away. 'No,' he replied. 'Life doesn't work that way,' he added quietly.

Arthur let the silence stretch out after this revelation, content to stroll over to the cabinet for the bottle of firewhisky and refill the glasses before sitting down again. He mutely toasted Harry before taking a drink and despite himself, Harry smiled. He was amazed that he was having this conversation with his fiancée's father. He had never had "the talk", not having had a father figure to step into the hole left by his dad and then Sirius. That it should be Arthur Weasley to fill this role was strange to say the least in view of the fact that he had been engaged to this man's daughter. But then he considered Arthur's kindness; his humanity and compassion and realised that it wasn't so strange after all.

'So what do I do?' he finally asked.

Arthur took his time before replying. 'I'm no expert, Harry, but I do recall the advice of someone I knew that had a lot more wisdom than me.'

'What was that?'

'That you should always do what is right rather than what is easy.'

Harry smiled at the memory but then considered the words. _What was right in this situation?_ _What was easy?_ He found to his discomfort that he wasn't particularly sure about either at the moment.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table and tried to engage herself in the conversation despite the fact that her thoughts were concentrated on what was going on in the next room. She was intensely curious about what Arthur wanted to speak to Harry about and as a result she was not giving her hosts the attention they deserved. No one seemed particularly bothered about this; indeed, the Weasleys seemed to appreciate her predicament and had deliberately kept the chatter light and trivial. Only Ginny seemed as preoccupied as she was herself.

She had watched Harry closely during the meal, sensing his initial discomfort and then noticing him becoming more at ease with himself. She had been worried that he might withdraw back into his shell but the welcoming embrace of the Weasleys seemed to have done the trick and Harry had been more like his old self than she could remember. When he had glanced over and caught her looking at him, his reassuring nod had done wonders to allay her own sense of anxiety and she had allowed herself to relax and to enjoy herself.

And then Arthur had asked to speak to Harry alone. She loved Arthur; loved his kindness and compassion; his simple love of all things Muggle and the fierce protectiveness he had for his family. She didn't know if he was cut out to deal with Harry at the moment though and she earnestly hoped that he didn't put his foot in it.

She glanced across at Ginny and felt a sudden surge of sympathy for her friend. Harry would speak to Ginny soon and when he did, her friend's dreams would be shattered. She knew that Ginny had almost resigned herself to losing Harry after what had happened, but she was also aware that her friend still clung on to the faint hope that their relationship could be redeemed. She knew better; Harry's brutal words on Tottenham Court Road left no room for doubt in the matter.

She still wasn't sure why this didn't sadden her more than she once thought it would. She was sad for her friend, but a part of her – if she was honest with herself – was_ relieved_ that Harry had declared his relationship with Ginny to be over. She didn't want to examine too closely why this should be so; she feared the answer and so was content to let it lie.

_For the moment anyway._

She glanced up as the living room door opened and Arthur strode into the room, his face an inscrutable mask. He walked over to Ginny and whispered something in her ear – she didn't catch what was said but could guess as her friend stood with a nervous look on her face and made her way into the living room, closing the door quietly behind her. She turned to the others and noticed that all had a grim look on their faces. Arthur spotted it too and felt moved to speak.

'Remember,' he began softly, 'what goes on in there is between Ginny and Harry. Stay out of it and don't be too hard on Harry if things don't work out.' For some reason, she noticed, Arthur glanced in her direction before he spoke again. 'We can't always get what we want in life; what is important is that we support one another when things go wrong. Understood?'

She noticed the subdued nods of assent that the others gave before she turned her attention to the living room door. She suddenly felt a surge of sadness and regret overwhelm her as she considered what was being said in that room and she remembered what they once had, the four of them. Arthur's words rang in her head as she contemplated what might have been.

_We can't always get what we want._

On the other side of the door, Harry stood and regarded his former fiancée in silence, noticing how nervous she looked as she twiddled her fingers in front of her. This just about summed up how he was feeling at the moment too - he had been dreading this meeting, but realised that it was perhaps a blessing to be in a position to finally come to terms with what he had become. The road to this point had been started with the best of intentions but he now knew that he was about to hurt a woman he loved.

_Love? Yes; I did love Ginny; and once I was in love with her too. Or at least I thought I was in love with her and that's what counts, isn't it?_ He now knew that this was no longer true. It was not that what she had said to him after the verdict at Ron's hearing had changed his opinion of her; rather it was that the events of the past year had finally made him come to terms with the man he had become and the true calling of his heart.

After a pause that seemed interminable, Ginny finally spoke.

'Harry? I'm sorry for what I said to you last year. I was…'

'Don't,' interrupted Harry, his hand held up. 'Please don't, Ginny. There is no need to rake over old ground. I know you didn't mean anything by it.'

'I still said it though,' she replied. 'I just want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened to Ron. No one does, Harry.'

'I know.'

They stood in silence and Ginny was unsure how to proceed. There was a restlessness about Harry; a nervousness that seemed alien to him. Then she understood. She decided to make this easier for him. She reached down the front of her blouse and pulled out the chain that hung around her neck. Harry watched curiously as she removed it and held it out to him. It was then that he realised; at the end of the chain hung a ring. The ring he had given to her when she had accepted his proposal of marriage. He felt a sudden surge of sadness threaten to overwhelm him.

'I don't suppose I'll need this, will I?' she asked, trying to keep her tone light and battling to keep the tears from her eyes. 'I took it off after you left but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I suppose I hoped that you might want me to wear it again.'

Harry stood still for a long time knowing that his life had reached a crossroads. This ring was a symbol of the life he'd once had and he knew that if he accepted it back he was shutting the door on that previous existence forever. This ring symbolised the boy he once was; the boy who had sacrificed his own needs for the benefit of his friends and it was with a touch of regret that he realised that this boy had gone; now there was only the man he had become and that man was not as willing to be so selfless. After a long moment, he finally reached out and accepted the ring, examining it as he held it in the palm of his hand. To his surprise, he felt a surge of relief; relief in the knowledge that he no longer had to hide behind the mask that he had so diligently constructed over the years. He no longer had to live the lie. After a few moments, he looked up.

'I'm sorry, Ginny. Truly sorry. I didn't want to cause any more hurt.'

'Too late,' whispered Ginny through her tears, attempting to force levity into a voice that threatened to break. She looked away. 'It's always been too late for us, Harry, right from the start. Maybe we were not fated to be together.'

'Don't ever say that!' said Harry, a little too loudly. 'Don't ever think that,' he added in a quieter tone. 'We had some good times, you and I. Had things not…happened as they did then who knows where we might have gone. But I'm sorry, Ginny. I can't give you what you want. I'm not the man I was and I don't think it would be fair to either of us to pretend otherwise.'

He watched the tears fall freely down Ginny's face and noticed how she defiantly ignored them. It occurred to him at that moment just how beautiful she was but he knew that this fierce beauty was not enough; that despite the fact she was a wonderful woman and that he loved her, after a fashion, Ginny Weasley would never be enough for him. He was not _in_ love with her.

'I thought that this would happen if you ever returned,' began Ginny. 'In some ways I almost wish you had stayed away, Harry. At least then I would still have my dreams.' She looked down at her feet. 'I think that I knew deep down that we were finished; that we could never pick up the pieces after what happened.' She lifted her head to face him, her eyes boring straight into him. 'But I want you to know one thing, Harry; I want you to know that you will always be welcome, wherever I am. I want you to stay in my life. You mean too much to me to sever things completely.'

'Thank you,' he replied in a small voice. He looked at the floor, unable to face her at that moment. He felt tears smart at his own eyes and wondered at the grace and dignity that his friend was displaying. _Friend? Yes; she would always be that, but nothing more._

'I'm going to leave now, Harry. I hope you will understand if I go up to my room until you go. I…don't think I will be able to act as if nothing has happened.'

'No! I should be the one to leave! This is your home, Ginny. I will go right now.'

She shook her head. 'This is your home too; don't ever forget that. Mum and dad are so happy to have you back. Stay a little longer, for their sake.'

Harry regarded her gratefully; aware of what this moment was costing her. He couldn't find the words to do her justice so instead he merely nodded. He was then surprised as Ginny stepped forward and embraced him. This time he didn't flinch or stand stiff; this time he returned the gesture in kind.

'Take care, Harry,' she whispered, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. 'I'll see you later,' she added as she walked past him and headed for the door.

He kept his back to her as she slipped out of the room and it was only when he heard the door close behind him that he slumped onto the chair by the fire. He sat there, his head down, and contemplated the ring in his hand and everything that it had now come to symbolise.

After a few minutes, he decided that he needed some fresh air.

Hermione looked up as the living room door opened and Ginny strode out, her head down in order to hide the tears in her eyes. She quickly made her way upstairs leaving the others at the table to share knowing – and sad – looks with one another. Molly and Fleur exchanged a particularly telling glance and the two women headed upstairs after Ginny in order to console her.

Hermione was torn; Ginny was her best _female_ friend and right now she needed comfort and sympathy. But Harry was her best friend and he too would be upset by the break up of an engagement that had once promised so much. She sighed deeply, wondering why it was that their lives seemed to be so complicated.

_Haven't we done enough?_ She raged. _Haven't we given enough already?_

She decided to wait a few minutes in order to give Harry some time alone in order to process what had just occurred. This could not be easy for him; Ginny had been – at least to her knowledge - his first and only lover and the disintegration of the relationship seemed like one more unfair burden that her friend had to bear. She only hoped that it would not destroy the fragile bridge that Harry had managed to build back to their world.

She glanced at her watch, deciding that she had given him enough time with his thoughts. Standing and casting an almost apologetic look at the remaining Weasleys, she strode over to the living room and opened the door.

The room was empty.

Fighting a sudden surge of panic, she cast her eyes around the room as she tried to work out where Harry had gone. _He must have Apparated! Damn it! Where would he have gone?_

Just as the feeling of panic threatened to overwhelm her she glanced out of the window and to her relief she saw him standing under one of the trees in the orchard. She knew the significance of the spot and it was with a feeling of sadness that she quickly made her way out of the back door and headed towards him. She realised that she was running and forced herself to slow down as she approached. He looked so lost as he stood there and it was with a feeling of trepidation that she finally reached him and stood by his side. Following the line of his gaze, she cast her own eyes on the two, small stones that were placed at the foot of the tree; dedication stones that marked the lives of Fred and Ron Weasley.

'Are you OK, Harry?' she asked. 'I saw Ginny and she seemed upset…'

'She will be. We broke up.'

Hermione didn't react immediately to the expected news. 'I thought as much,' she finally replied. 'Will you be all right?'

He nodded, but did not reply. Instead, they remained standing in silence for some time before Harry finally spoke again.

'I never realised that Ron had been buried here,' he said softly. 'I should have been here for that.'

She nodded her head absent-mindedly, a sudden rush of sadness flowing through her as she contemplated the small rectangular stones in front of her. 'They had a memorial service for him,' she finally replied. 'Arthur wanted a place to mark his life and decided that he belonged next to Fred.' She cast her eyes round the orchard. 'He said that the boys had loved coming here to play Quidditch when they were little and so it was only fitting that they should be remembered together in a place where they had been happy. It's a beautiful spot.'

'It is,' replied Harry hoarsely.

They stood for a few more minutes in silence before she decided to speak again.

'Harry? Can I ask you something?' She noticed him look at her and his expression seemed to suggest that he knew what was coming. She ploughed on. 'When Voldemort cursed you; when you…died; what was it like? Will Ron be happy where he is?'

She watched him consider her question for a long time as he gazed at the stones. This was something they had never discussed in detail, despite their closeness. Finally he answered.

'I can't really answer that, Hermione. You see, I never went "on". I was kind of in limbo – neither in this world or the next. Dumbledore seemed happy enough though and it is reassuring to know that there is something else, even if I don't know what it is.' He paused for a moment, then smiled. 'Wherever Ron is, I'm sure he's happy. He's probably sitting somewhere right now, a butterbeer in one hand, a half eaten chicken leg in the other and he's probably calling me out for being such an arse the past year.'

She matched his mood. 'That sounds like the kind of thing he would do,' she said with a smile of her own. 'I think he was happy enough here, though.'

'He was,' replied Harry. 'And he deserved to be after everything he went through with us. He was a good man – the best. He was a lucky man too; he had a wonderful family and he had you. A man couldn't ask for anything more.' He frowned. 'Sometimes I think he never fully appreciated what he had, but I reckon that he finally came to realise how lucky he was before he died.'

'I think that's true,' she replied. 'He was always a bit insecure; always feared that he wasn't living up to his brothers. Or to you,' she added.

'Me?'

'Yes; you. He loved you, Harry, but when we were younger I think he felt that he was in your shadow a bit. You do cast a long one,' she added with a smile. She paused, considering whether to reveal something she had never told him before. 'When I destroyed the Horcrux in the chamber, he got quite upset at what happened.'

'Oh?' said Harry, a feeling of dread forming in his stomach. He emphatically did not want to discuss what had occurred when the Horcruxes were destroyed. 'Why?'

'Because when I first struck the cup with the Basilisk fang, a spirit Riddle formed and spoke to us – to me.'

'What did it say?'

'It wasn't so much what it said; it was more what it _sensed _if you know what I mean. It knew I wanted to destroy it so it tried to stop me by playing on my deepest fear. I don't know how it managed it.'

'So what happened then?' asked Harry, scarcely able to breathe. They had _never _discussed this before.

'It showed me you lying dead,' she replied in a small voice. 'It told me that you were going to die and that there was nothing I could do about it. It was horrible – it took all of my willpower to ignore it and stab it again with the fang. Later on, when Hagrid carried you back to the castle, I thought that you were dead.' She shook her head. 'It was as if the Horcrux had been correct. A part of me died when I saw you like that.'

Harry took a moment to digest this, never having _fully_ appreciated what his friend had gone through that night. 'So why was Ron upset?'

'Because it was _you_ that the Horcrux portrayed as dead – not him. He…took this quite badly at first, until I told him that I was more worried about you because you were in more danger than the rest of us. After that I think he was always a bit worried that you would overshadow our relationship too. It wasn't until you and Ginny got engaged that he finally seemed to gain confidence.' She grimaced. 'If he were still alive he'd probably have a fit now that you two have broken up.' She paused, turning to face him. 'Did he never tell you any of this?'

'What do you think?' asked Harry flatly.

'No, I suppose not,' she replied. 'He never did speak much on these matters – he never even told me what happened with the Horcrux he destroyed.' Her tone was a question but Harry studiously ignored her comment. She sighed, knowing that some walls might never be breached. 'Anyway, I think he had finally come to realise that you hated the attention; that you wanted what he had – you know; a close family and such. It was only then that he truly started to be his own man.'

Silence descended once more on them as each dwelled on what had been revealed. There was peace to be found here; it was a beautiful spot and in the afternoon sunshine one could almost forget the troubles of the world. She noticed that Harry had a faraway look on his face, almost as if his mind was elsewhere, which was hardly surprising in light of what they had discussed.

'A penny for them,' she said quietly.

He finally turned to face her, deciding how to respond. 'I'm just trying to work something out. I'm trying to make a decision and I am wondering what Ron would have wanted me to do.'

'What? Is it about the case?'

Harry shook his head. 'No; it's something Arthur said to me earlier. I'm just trying to work out the difference between what is easy and what is right. Sometimes I think that for certain decisions, neither way is easy and so it is difficult to recognise what is actually right.'

'Can you tell me what it is?'

He turned to look straight into her eyes and Hermione felt the intensity of his gaze. 'Not yet,' he replied. 'When I decide, you'll be the first to know.'

He turned back to face the stones and stretched out his hand towards her. Surprised, she placed her own hand in his and they stood in companionable silence for some time.

Eventually, Harry broke the silence.

'Thanks,' he said quietly.

'What for?'

'For not giving up on me,' he whispered.

Hermione didn't respond. Instead, she squeezed his hand and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

She was beginning to get her friend back.


	11. Pressing for Answers

**Pressing for Answers**

Hermione hung her coat on the peg in her office and watched Harry slump into the chair next to her desk. They had lingered at the Weasleys for nearly another hour before Harry had insisted that they had to leave. The departure had been moving, with Arthur and Molly reminding them both that they were welcome back whenever they wanted. Ginny had remained in her room and there had been a slight awkwardness as the break up of the engagement hung over them all like a cloud, but they had been left in no doubt that the Burrow could still be considered as a home to them both.

She sat down across from Harry and regarded him with a quizzical expression. _What now?_

Harry recognised the unspoken question and sighed. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'The only real lead we have at the moment is the entry in Cho's diary. If we can find out why she was meeting Ron then we might uncover the truth. I take it he never said anything to you?'

She shook her head. 'I was going to ask you the same question. He never said a word to me.' She paused, considering her next words carefully. 'You don't think Ron was into anything…_suspect,_ do you?'

Harry recognised the tone; recognised the need for reassurance in the question. 'I don't think for one second that Ron was up to anything dodgy. If you want my opinion, I reckon that Cho uncovered something and approached him in confidence. Ron probably did a bit of poking around and the wrong people got wind of it. Just my opinion, mind.'

She tried to hide her relief, but then a horrible realisation came to her. 'Harry? If that's true then that means Ron…Ron was the target all along.'

'I know,' replied Harry, levelly.

She could tell that he was trying to sound casual about it, but his eyes gave the lie to his distress. It had always been assumed that Harry had been the target and that Ron had died in his place. The idea that someone had deliberately targeted Ron was a difficult one to accept, but she realised that this may actually help Harry overcome his guilt – he had been living for months with the certainty that Ron had died instead of him. 'It's to do with Cho's work at Gringotts, isn't it?' she finally asked. '"Transfers" she wrote. That will be account transfers, wont it?'

'Probably,' replied Harry. 'I can't think of anything else that it could be. But for the life of me, I can't see where Draco would fit into all of this. Remember; there was an eleven month gap between the two murders.'

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. 'We might be able to work that out if we can establish why Cho was the victim. She probably discovered something dodgy in the bank accounts and went to Ron. Why him though? Why not you?' Her tone was almost an accusation.

Harry shrugged. 'Who knows? Maybe she thought our past history would get in the way? Maybe she thought Ron would be in a better position to help?'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'Or maybe she thought that meeting him would be less noticeable,' she added. 'That makes sense when you think about it. You are still high profile, Harry; if she was spotted meeting with you then questions would be asked – maybe even in the papers. She probably wanted to keep a low profile so got in touch with Ron instead. Maybe she wanted him to pass the information along?'

'But he never said a word,' replied Harry. 'We didn't work together, remember?' he sighed. 'I might have to ask a few questions back in the Auror office but I don't think I can trust everyone in there. If we ask the wrong people then word might get back to those responsible for killing Ron. We might need to try a different approach.'

'You mean Gringotts?' she asked. She noticed the surprised look on his face. 'Come on, Harry; it's obvious. If we can't chase this down from the Auror side we are going to have to speak to the Goblins. It could prove tricky though.'

'In what way?'

'They have their own rules and they generally do not break them. I deal with them regularly and I have a pretty good relationship with them but I'm not sure if they will let us see personal bank accounts. That's what you want, isn't it? You want a look at the accounts Cho was working on at the time of Ron's death.'

Harry nodded. 'That's exactly what I want. You don't think they will let me have a look?'

'They definitely won't let _you_ have a look. They might let me have a peek though. I get on quite well with them.'

'Then what are we waiting for,' said Harry. 'We should go there right now.' He stood to leave, but Hermione shook her head.

'They definitely won't let us see anything if we just show up unannounced.' She noticed the confused look on his face and sighed. 'One thing I have learned in this job is that the Goblins perceive humans as arrogant, Harry. They think we do not show them enough respect and if you think about it, they are quite right to think this. Most people view them as little better than servants and the quickest way to annoy a goblin is to show a lack of respect.'

'So what do we do then?'

'We write to them. We write a letter to Ragnok – he's the head Goblin – and we _politely_ request an interview. With a bit of luck, he might agree to see us tomorrow.'

Harry nodded. 'OK, so what do I write?'

Hermione smiled. 'You don't write anything; you leave this to me. _I am_ head of the DMC, or had that little titbit escaped your notice?'

She noticed that he at least had the good grace to look sheepish as it became clear that he _had_ forgotten this salient fact. She shook her head, smiling as she remembered all those other times when he – and Ron – had forgotten to engage their brains.

_Boys,_ she thought in amusement. _Some things don't change._

'Anything else?' she asked.

'I want to speak to Rita at some point – I was thinking it might be worth paying a little visit to her right now. What do you think?'

'I think that I would rather eat some butobuter pus than speak to that woman, but I suppose it is necessary. Do you really think Rita actually knows anything we don't though?' The distaste in her voice as she considered the reporter was evident.

Harry shrugged. 'She might, but that's not what I want to speak to her about.'

'What then?' She asked, curious.

Harry smiled cryptically. 'Just a little idea that came to me. I think it's about time Rita learned the value of public service.' He noticed her look of confusion and decided to elaborate. 'I need to speak to anyone who might have seen anything suspicious the day Cho died but we don't have the time to run down all of the possible witnesses. It would take us all day just to interview his neighbours. I've had a little idea that might bring the evidence to us but it means asking Rita for help – the _Prophet _is still the biggest seller these days, isn't it?'

'It is; the _Quibbler_ overtook it for a while but the _Prophet_ is definitely back on top.'

Harry nodded before glancing at his watch – _four thirty_. 'You write your letter; I'm going to pay a quick visit to the Aurors – I won't be too long and then we can go and see Rita.'

'Fair enough, Harry. Meet me back here in about half an hour?'

Harry nodded his agreement as he rose to leave. 'Half an hour,' he replied. 'It's a date,' he added as he turned to leave. As his back was to her, he did not see the sudden flush of colour on Hermione's cheeks at the words.

Harry entered the Auror office expecting it to be virtually empty at this time of the day but was surprised to see that there were still a few people working away. Tom Proudfoot, John Dawlish and Blaise Zabini remained and all looked up as he entered. He was disappointed to see Dawlish and Zabini; it meant that he would have to be a little more subtle in his approach and subtlety had never been his strongest suit. He watched as Tom Proudfoot looked up from the parchment he had been scribbling on and smiled at him.

'Harry! Good to see you again. What brings you here today?' he asked, getting to his feet. Harry noticed Dawlish and Zabini regard him with scowls.

'Working late, Tom?' he replied with a smile. 'Not like you at all – normally you're in the pub by now.'

'Very funny, Potter,' replied Tom. 'Bloody paperwork; that's why I'm still here. Sometimes I think this place runs on parchment.' He glanced about as if looking for someone. 'The delectable Miss Granger not with you today? No need for another escort?' he asked with a wink.

Harry smiled. 'She's working on something for me at the moment.'

'Not what you want her to be "working on" I bet. I reckon there's something else you'd rather she "work on",' Tom added, nudging Harry in the ribs.

Harry flushed, but could not stop himself from seeing the funny side. Tom always did have a crude sense of humour. 'Oh, piss off, Tom,' he replied, laughing. 'A one track mind; that's what you've got.'

Tom smiled in return before turning serious again. 'So what can I do for you, Harry?' he asked.

'I just want to pick up the remaining files that Ron was working on before he died. I know that I am entitled to see them if I want, but I thought it would be polite to ask anyway.'

'And why would you want Weasley's files, Potter?' asked Dawlish, finally unable to contain himself. 'Is it not Malfoy you are supposed to be helping?'

Harry did his best to remain calm. 'Just a little discrepancy I need to check out, Dawlish,' he replied, struggling to keep the contempt from his voice. 'I don't need the files for long; just long enough to have a quick glance at them.'

'And this will help Malfoy?' asked Dawlish.

Harry did his best to speak civilly. 'It might; I just want to be sure that I leave no stone unturned.' He could see the sceptical looks on the faces of both Dawlish and Zabini. _I have to be careful here; I don't know if I can trust these two_. 'Look,' he began carefully, 'Ron's name came up in relation to something and I need to confirm it. It's probably nothing but I do need to check. You know how this works; you've both had to run down dead ends just to eliminate something from the enquiry,' he added, hoping that his reasonable tone would be sufficient to allay any suspicions.

It seemed to do the trick for after a moment, Dawlish flicked his hand dismissively in the direction of the archive room and sat down again. Harry did his best to hide his anger at the man's presumption but he succeeded because he knew that he had to make it look as if it _was_ a trifling matter. He could not let it be known that he was checking out what could potentially be the break in the Malfoy case. He nodded curtly to Dawlish and headed towards the files. Tom followed him.

'Just ignore him, Harry,' he whispered. 'His nose has been well out of joint ever since you returned. I guess he just doesn't like it when someone shows him what a real investigator is supposed to do.'

Harry smiled as he pulled open the drawer of the filing cabinet. 'Thanks, Tom,' he replied as he began to remove the remaining paperwork within. They had not removed everything of Ron's in their previous visit and this time he wanted to be sure that he left nothing behind. He noticed Tom watching, his eyes widening as he saw the pile of documents grow and grow. They shared a look and a smile.

'"It's probably nothing,"' quoted Tom, trying not to laugh. 'Merlin, Harry; I'd hate to see what you need when you _are _on to something.'

Harry couldn't help himself; he threw back his head and laughed.

Forty five minutes later, Hermione gave Harry a grateful smile as he held open the door of the _Daily Prophet_ building to allow her to enter. She had finally managed to compose a courteous, respectful letter to Ragnok and had sent it off immediately before the two of them had Apparated over to the Leaky Cauldron. Thankfully, the pub had been virtually empty and no one had paid them the least bit of notice save Tom, who had contented himself with a nod in their general direction.

Now that unobtrusiveness was about to change she realised as they finally made their way into the foyer. Heads turned at their arrival and pretty soon, just about everyone in the immediate vicinity was watching their slow progress towards the reception desk. She even saw some of them whispering to one another at their approach and more than a few people had rather hostile expressions on their faces. Then she remembered; _Harry and I have had a few run-ins with this newspaper over the years. _She did her best to ignore the stares.

_How does Harry deal with this all the tim_e? she thought to herself as her feeling of discomfort increased. She had never liked being in the spotlight and the attention she had received in the weeks and months after the defeat of Voldemort had been enough to last her a lifetime. Harry had to deal with it wherever he went and it occurred to her that his name had not been out of the papers since his return._ No wonder we are getting all of this attention_.

She eyed the receptionist, noticing the young woman's mouth gaping open in recognition of the "famous Harry Potter." Sighing, she turned to see how Harry was handling it and was surprised to see him break into a smile. She had never seen him like this before; the grin plastered across his face was as phoney as a nine pound note.

'Good evening,' said Harry, pleasantly. He leaned in towards the young witch, inviting her confidence. 'I was wondering if you could help me,' he said quietly, 'I want to speak to Rita Skeeter and I was hoping that you would be able to direct me to her office.' He flashed the girl a winning smile.

The receptionist flushed scarlet. 'Of…of course, Mr Potter,' stammered the witch. 'She works on the first floor, last door on the right,' she added, pointing to the stairs.

'Thank you,' Harry beamed and Hermione was astonished to see him wink at the young girl. _Wink? What the hell was going on?_

She followed Harry towards the stairs in confusion. 'Harry? What was all that about?' She actually found herself feeling irrationally jealous of the young receptionist.

Harry laughed. 'It was nothing, Hermione. Much as I hate the fame, I learned a long time ago that it can open some doors. In this line of work, that can be an extremely useful attribute. We're not too popular in this building, remember; so I thought it would help smooth the passage for us. Just don't tell George, Bill or Charlie; they would have a field day if they found out.'

She smiled as they ascended the stairs together, making a mental note to tell George, Bill and Charlie at the first opportunity that arose. They continued in silence until they reached the last office on the right and she eyed the sign that hung on the door.

RITA SKEETER

CHIEF REPORTER

She watched as Harry stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths in order to compose himself. 'Just follow my lead,' he whispered before opening the door without knocking. She followed him in.

'What is the meaning of…' began Rita as she stood up at the interruption. Then she smiled; a smile phonier than the one Harry had bestowed on the receptionist and a smile that displayed her three prominent gold teeth. 'Why; Harry Potter! And Hermione Granger! _So_ good to see you both after such a long time. What can I do for you?'

Hermione tried not to let her dislike for this woman surface as she knew that this interview could be very important. She regarded Rita for a moment; she was in her early fifties now, her curly blonde hair beginning to fade slightly and her heavy jaw showing signs of softening with age. Her eyes – only partly hidden behind her rhinestone glasses – remained as shrewd and as hard as ever and they followed Harry about the room. She followed Rita's gaze, turning to see what her friend was up to.

She realised that Harry hadn't said a word in response to Rita's greeting. Instead, he had examined the large, plush office until his eyes had been drawn to a large display cabinet in that was positioned by the far wall. She watched as he moved to examine it and it took her a moment to realise that it was an "I love me" cabinet that contained all the awards and commendations that Rita had accumulated over the years.

'Very impressive,' said Harry, dryly. 'You've had a long and distinguished career, Rita, judging by all of these awards. "Reporter of the Year" five years in a row, I see. I do notice, however, that you've had a bit of a lean spell over the past few years,' he went on, his voice full of innocence. 'It seems to have picked up again recently though,' he added.

Hermione noticed Rita flush at his remark and then it occurred to her; the lean spell would coincide with the years after the defeat of Voldemort. She, Harry and Ron had refused point blank to deal with the _Prophet _and the sales of the newspaper had fallen behind those of the _Quibbler_ for the first time in living memory. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

'Well, you know how it is, Harry,' replied Rita, trying to keep the anger form her voice. 'The media is a fickle game and sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. I must admit that I was delighted to see you come back; you're good copy, Harry. You always have been. Now what can I do for you?'

Hermione noticed Harry smile as he considered her words and it occurred to her that being "good copy" was not something he was particularly pleased about.

'I'm looking for a small favour, Rita,' replied Harry.

Rita regarded him with a shrewd look. 'I hope you don't expect me to reveal my sources, Harry. I would be extremely disappointed if this is the case. You know I can't do that; we are both in the same line of work.'

'You are?' asked Hermione, unable to let this comment go unchallenged.

Rita regarded her for a long moment, the dislike obvious. 'You might not understand, _Miss Granger_, but I'm sure Harry does. We are both in the business of finding out things that other people do not want us to know. In order to do this we both must use sources – sometimes sources of a disreputable nature. However, we can never reveal any of these sources because if we did, word would get out and people would stop talking to us. Isn't this true, Harry?'

Harry looked amused. 'It is true,' he replied, 'but I was not expecting you to reveal your methods, Rita, much as I would like you to. No; that's not why I am here; I am here because I want you to publish a little appeal on my behalf.'

'An appeal?' asked Rita and to Hermione, the reporter took on the look of a hunted animal. 'What sort of appeal?' Rita enquired as she surreptitiously opened a drawer in her desk. Hermione noticed with concern that she reached for a Quick Quotes Quill.

'I want you to put out a request to you r readers,' replied Harry. 'I want you to make an appeal for anyone who might have seen anything suspicious near Draco Malfoy's apartment on the day that Cho Chang was killed.' Hermione watched as he noticed the Quick Quote Quill emerge from the drawer and begin to take notes. He walked over to it and began to read what it was writing down. She decided to join him, reading the green ink on the parchment over his shoulder and quickly beginning to feel the anger grow within her.

_Harry Potter (23), troubled hero of the war, made an emotional appeal for assistance to this reporter in order to break the deadlock in the Malfoy case. Clearly harbouring the guilt from the error of judgement that led to the death of Ronald Weasley, Potter nevertheless…_

'Is this a new version?' asked Harry casually as he took hold of the quill and began to examine it.

'It is,' replied Rita, surprised at the question. 'It's the latest model.'

'That's what I thought,' replied Harry and Hermione watched as he – without taking his eyes off Rita – casually snapped it in two. 'Never did like the damn things,' he said quietly as he disdainfully tossed the broken pieces into the corner of the room. 'Now, will you publish the appeal?' he asked, as if nothing had happened.

Rita looked furious. 'Why would I do that?' she hissed. 'Why would I help you?'

'Because it sells newspapers,' replied Hermione, surprising herself by speaking up. 'You know that an appeal would make a good front page, Rita, and it would shift a few more copies of your rag. Can't you see the headline? "Potter in Appeal for Help!" It has quite a ring to it, don't you think? It might even help you get another award,' she added, nodding her head at the trophy cabinet.

'I'm managing fine without your help, _Miss Granger_. I have picked up more than a few awards since the unfortunate death of Mr Weasley – or hadn't you noticed?'

'Oh, I'd noticed,' she replied. '"_Weasley Murder - Potter Guilty of Negligence!" _was a particularly successful article, was it not? I think I still have a copy of that one,' she added scathingly.

Rita laughed. 'This is why there is no chance of me helping you. Did you really think you could barge in here and expect me to co-operate?'

'No,' she replied. 'But I did come here expecting you to use your brain for once. How will it look when we go to the _Quibbler_ and ask them for help? Of course, we will have to explain how the _Prophet_ refused to act in the public interest; why its chief reporter decided not to get involved in the biggest story in years. I'm sure your editor will be delighted when he reads that.' She watched her words strike home; watched as the reality of the situation confronted Rita and observed that the reporter was cornered. She was a victim of her own profession. After a long moment, Rita finally replied.

'OK, Harry. What is it you want me to print?' she asked with a sigh.

Hermione tried her best not to look smug, but failed miserably.

_Sometimes, life was good._

Hermione sighed as she closed her front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. It had been a long day and she knew that she would have no trouble sleeping tonight after so much exertion. It occurred to her that there was something a bit macabre in the fact that investigating a brutal murder seemed to promise a better nights sleep than she had enjoyed in months, but she had dealt with stranger paradoxes in her life.

'Hi Crookshanks,' she whispered to her faithful pet as the cat trotted over to rub herself against her mistress' legs. Crookshanks was the only certainty in her life at the moment and had been for some considerable time. The flat was a lonely place sometimes and she often thought that the companionship of her pet was the only thing that had kept her sane recently. While she still saw the Weasleys nearly every other day, each night she still returned to an empty apartment and the loneliness was beginning to get to her.

She had asked Harry if he wanted to go out for dinner but he had – politely – refused. He had explained that he had promised to visit Draco and that he needed to speak to Narcissa about a few things. She had tried to hide her disappointment but Harry had sensed her reaction to the refusal and had smiled softly.

'_I want to, Hermione; it's just that I can't right now. Maybe tomorrow?'_

She had accepted this apology of sorts and contented herself with the knowledge that he really was tied up in the case at the moment; she had to be happy with the fact that he was finally back. It seemed incredible to her that so much had happened in only a few short days; indeed, this time last week she was despairing of ever seeing her friend again.

But now he was back and she believed that she was finally getting through to him. The visit to the Weasleys today had done wonders and the hard, cold, cynical Harry was slowly beginning to disappear. She doubted that she would ever see the carefree youth she had once known and loved but today she had seen glimpses of the real Harry Potter begin to emerge. When he had taken her hand in the orchard, she had felt for a few brief moments that everything was fine again; that death had not visited them and that a future filled with promise was open to them both.

Now, as she settled herself down on her couch, she realised that Harry _was_ her future. With the exception of Ginny, she had no real friends to speak of and since Ron had died she had made absolutely no attempt to cultivate new friendships or romantic relationships. Harry's disappearance had hung over her like a cloud and she knew that she had put her entire life on hold waiting for his return. She had spent so much time and effort looking for him that now he had returned she was left with the problem of what to do with her life. The Malfoy case – while proving a welcome distraction – would not last forever and she feared what would happen once it was over_. Will I be able to pick up the pieces of a fractured life?_

Harry would be the key to this, she knew. They had always been close; always depended on one another despite being romantically involved with others. Ron and Ginny had seemed to accept their deep friendship but she knew that not everyone would understand such a relationship. Indeed, there had been times when she thought that her closeness with Harry caused some resentment with the Weasley siblings.

And that was her problem, she knew. Every potential friend; every potential lover would have to first measure up to Harry and then accept that he was such an important part of her life. Ron had – just – been able to accept this but he had been able to do this from a position of having known the two of them for years. Would anyone else be able to understand her need to have Harry in her life?

_Probably not_, she realised.

And what of Harry? She had no idea what he planned to do once the case was over and she still harboured fears that he would carry out his threat to disappear again. While she didn't think this likely in view of the progress they had made together, she still considered it a possibility. She did know one thing though; she wanted to be with him whatever he decided to do.

She was aware that the two of them had shared some very intense moments since his return and she also had a deep, lingering suspicion about what he was talking about when he spoke of trying to work out what Ron wanted him to do. She was no longer a swotty, innocent schoolchild; she wasn't a fool; she had seen the look in Harry's eyes when they had caught one another's eyes and she was almost afraid of what she beheld in those moments when they had stared at one another to the exclusion of all else.

_Desire._

It was almost understandable. As far as she knew, Harry had not been with a woman since he had left nearly a year ago and she was certain that he was not the type to betray Ginny in such a manner. He was a young man and would have the drives and urges of a man in much the same way that she too had her needs. She had not been with anyone since Ron and it was an aspect of her life that she missed deeply. _But with Harry?_

It seemed almost unthinkable. While they had always been close there had not been a hint that there might be something more to their relationship. It was true that she had been attracted to him back in their fifth year, but she had taken it for granted that Harry did not see her that way and had dealt with this fact without any feeling of disappointment or regret. She valued their friendship too much to risk it for anything and she had always put her attraction to him down to a natural reaction between two teenagers who were close. She had thought no more about it since. _Until now._

Now that Harry had finally severed his relationship with Ginny, that is. If what she thought she saw in his eyes was a simple case of lust then she knew he could have slaked that particular thirst with Ginny – or indeed just about anyone else - any time he wanted. But he hadn't; he had broken off the relationship with Ginny and this now begged the question; _when Harry looks at me like that, is it love? Could it be love?_

One problem was that in order to fathom Harry in matters of the heart, one needed a long plumb line. _The other problem was that if the answer to this question of love was yes, then what am I going to do about it_? _Do I want it to be true?_ _Harry has just split up with my best female friend; I was engaged to his best friend and the brother of his fiancée! What the hell do I do about this if I am right? And if I am right, how long has he looked at me this way?_

This was the crux; she had no idea what to do _if_ she was right and the thought that Harry had secretly harboured feelings for her for any length of time was deeply disturbing. _Did this mean that everything else had been a lie? Is this the reason that I have been having trouble breaking through?_

Sighing, she sat back on the couch and closed her eyes. She realised that these were questions she was not sure she ever wanted answered.

_Oh, Harry, why do things always have to be so difficult?_


	12. Honour Among Thieves

**Honour among Thieves**

Harry sighed as he made his way down through the various levels of the Ministry in order to reach the cells in the basement. He had just remembered that yesterday he had said to Malfoy that he would visit at some point today and he now regretted making such a promise. For one thing, he'd had an extremely busy day and just wanted to kick back and relax for a few hours. For another, he'd just disappointed Hermione by rejecting her request to go out for dinner together.

_Damn!_

He hoped she understood – he really, _really_ wanted to go out with her, but there was just too much to do at the moment. Draco had to be seen; Narcissa had to be consulted and then there was Ron's files…

_Why the fuck did I agree to do this? _

He allowed himself a rueful smile, realising that he was a victim of his own conscience. He couldn't have walked away from this case; not after the suggestion that it might be related to Ron's death. It finally occurred to him that Narcissa had been right all along and his respect for Draco's mother went up yet another notch. He just hoped she approved of his latest scheme.

But he was still annoyed that he had disappointed Hermione. He had been totally sincere at the Burrow when he had thanked her for not giving up on him. He knew that his life had been spiralling out of control and had it not been for the spar she had thrown him he would have been even further down the road to self-destruction. Hermione was once again proving to be the rock that anchored him and he did not know what he would be doing right now if she had decided to give up on him. She'd been right; they really only had each other now.

He had been surprised when she had spoken of the events in the chamber – when she had told him of what the Horcrux had shown her prior to its destruction – and it had taken all of his willpower not to blurt out the truth of what he and Ron had seen that bitter night in the Forest of Dean when they had destroyed the locket.

He cast his mind back to that fateful night; the night he had lied and had changed the destiny for all of them; the night Ron had saved his life and had put him on a five year path of deception.

_First, after opening the locket, there had been the eyes; the eyes that had looked at them much as a hunter regards its prey. Then the apparitions; the sight of me and Hermione embracing; kissing and taunting Ron for his folly in thinking that Hermione could ever love him. And of course, there had been the words; those damning words that had nearly broken Ron and threatened to compromise them all._

"_I have seen your dreams, Ron Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible…Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter…Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend…Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"_

Harry stopped walking and closed his eyes for a moment as he remembered the final moments of that fateful encounter. The moment after Ron had destroyed the locket and had looked so defeated. The moment when he had been unable to look his friend in the eye and had told him that he only loved Hermione as a sister.

_The moment I lied and changed everything._

In a life full of regrets, this was the one that haunted him the most. He had lied; lied to Ron and lied to himself. He had even indirectly lied to Hermione and even now he still felt the repercussions of that lie reverberate down the years. It was no consolation to him to know that Ron and Hermione had seemed happy together for he would always wonder if it could all have been different. He opened his eyes and commenced his walking again, lost in his thoughts.

_Maybe Hermione did love me then_? _But I couldn't break my friend that night. Ron had returned and had saved my life. He had looked so crushed by the mere possibility that Hermione did prefer me that I couldn't destroy him. I needed his help destroy the Horcruxes and if I had admitted that I was in love with Hermione then he would probably have left again._

Harry sighed. He had so many regrets from that fateful winter. He had behaved appallingly towards Hermione; ignoring her tears and not even attempting to console her after Ron had left. It had been fear, he knew. Fear of where such consolation may lead them both.

_Besides; she preferred Ron, didn't she? Her behaviour after he left was proof of that._

But it still didn't excuse his behaviour. For once, she had needed him to be her rock and he had rejected her. He told himself that his reasons had been for the best; that he did not trust himself to offer her comfort and succour without taking advantage of her. That he would have been unable to keep the secret he had guarded so carefully from both of his friends.

This was the crux of his current dilemma, he knew. He loved Hermione – he had loved her for as long as he could remember. But if he was to now profess these feelings to her, he would have to admit to her how long he had loved her. Admit that his relationship with Ginny had been a sham. If he told Hermione he loved her he couldn't keep this information from her; he couldn't hope to enjoy an open, honest relationship if he began by lying to her about something of this magnitude. _And if I do tell her?_

_Then the shit will really hit the fan._

He suddenly felt the temperature drop and he realised that he had finally reached the lower level of the building. He shivered but was glad to have been shaken out of his reverie. He stopped and considered his surroundings and it occurred to him that despite his general opinion of Draco Malfoy, he could not help but feel a degree of sympathy for his current plight. He was certain that his former enemy was innocent and yet here he was in a cold and fetid cell awaiting a fate worse than death. Whatever Malfoy had done in his past, he didn't deserve this.

_No one did._

He nodded to the guards as he approached the cell and waited while one of them performed the necessary counter charms to unlock the door. Stepping inside, he saw that Malfoy sat by the rickety wooden table, his head in his arms as he leaned on the flat surface. Malfoy looked up as he approached his expression expectant.

'I don't have enough to get you out of here yet,' began Harry without preamble, 'but I do think there is some cause for hope.' He grabbed the other chair that sat by the wall and - swinging it over to the table – he placed it down across from Draco and sat astride it. He noticed that Malfoy now had the look of a hunted animal.

'I need to ask you a few more questions, if that's OK?' he asked.

Malfoy regarded him with a stony look. 'What's the point?' he finally replied. 'I'm running out of time and I'm sick of answering questions. I don't remember anything!' he exclaimed, his frustration and despair obvious.

Harry felt a sudden surge of pity for the man sitting before him, recognising the despair and empathising. _After all, it wasn't so long ago that I felt something like this._

'Look, Draco,' he began softly; 'I _know_ you are innocent and I do have a few significant leads. I really do think I will get you out of here, it's just that it will take time.'

'Time?' Draco sneered. 'In case you hadn't noticed, I don't have any fucking time.'

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to work out the best approach.

'Did you see Cho Chang at all in the past year?' he asked.

Draco looked surprised by the question, but considered it. 'No,' he finally replied. 'I hadn't seen her since school. Why?'

'Because I have discovered that Cho was murdered for a reason. I am certain that she uncovered something and told Ron; that's why he was killed. Whatever she discovered must be huge.'

'And how does that help me?' asked Draco.

Harry sighed. 'It helps you because I don't think you were the main victim of this crime. I really believe that whoever did this was out to get Cho and thought that taking you down too would be a bonus. Unless of course you got yourself mixed up in something I should know about?'

Draco shook his head. 'This may surprise you, Potter, but I have kept my head down since the Dark Lord was destroyed. I have stayed out of trouble as best I can; I am on my last chance, remember?' He paused for a moment. 'You really think that I wasn't the target? That I was just a convenient patsy?'

Harry nodded. 'That's exactly what I think. I started this investigation from the wrong angle. I was trying to find out who would want to frame a Malfoy but then it occurred to me that it would be easier to discover who wouldn't.' He smiled to take the sting out of his words. 'No; Cho is the key to this. She was meeting Ron before he died so I think that whoever killed him did so to cover something up. They obviously didn't know that Cho was the real threat; not Ron.'

Malfoy considered this in silence for a few moments and Harry noticed a glint in his eye that had not been present when he first arrived. 'So do you have anything to go on?'

Harry nodded. 'I'm going to go through all of Ron's files and Hermione is going to visit Gringotts.' He noticed the surprise on Malfoy's face. 'Cho worked there and I – that is we – think that she discovered some irregularities in the accounts she dealt with. If we can nail what that is then we have a chance of discovering who is behind this. And do me a favour, will you? Don't tell anyone about this; only discuss it with your mother – no one else. Understood?'

Draco nodded his understanding, but then frowned. 'And if nothing turns up in either place?'

'Then I have a few other cards to play, Draco. I need to speak to your mother about something – has she been to visit yet?'

Draco nodded. 'Yeah; she comes every day to see me. I would have cracked up by now if it wasn't for her.'

Harry nodded his understanding before glancing at his watch. 'Well, I have to speak to her too. I'm afraid that I really need to go, Draco; I still have a lot to do today. I just wanted to update you and tell you not to lose hope. We _will _get you out of here,' he added firmly, hoping to hide his own doubts. He regarded him for one last time. 'Are you _sure_ you have nothing else you can tell me?'

'Not a thing,' replied Draco flatly. 'I wish I did but I really can't think of anything that would be of use.'

Harry nodded. 'In that case, I best be going.' He stood to leave and was startled when Malfoy stood with him. He seemed very unsure of himself once more. Finally, to Harry's surprise, he held out his hand.

'Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I am grateful you are doing this, Harry. Thank you.'

Harry looked at the proffered hand for a moment before finally taking it and clasping it firmly. The two men – after years of enmity and rancour – shook hands and looked one another in the eye.

'Don't mention it.'

Just over an hour later, Harry sat in the dining room of Malfoy Manor and watched as one of the House Elves placed a sumptuous dinner on the table in front of him. He was joined by both Narcissa and Lucius and he suspected that the latter was only present under sufferance. _Narcissa probably had to physically threaten him to get him here_, he mused.

He had briefly explained to Narcissa what he had discovered and outlined what he proposed to do next. He had not mentioned his meeting with Rita, however. _Well, no time like the present._ He waited until the elf had departed and turned to his hostess.

'Narcissa? I think I need to warn you that you might be getting some…visitors tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right?'

Narcissa dabbed her mouth with her napkin before replying. 'Visitors? I don't foresee any problems, Harry; but can you tell me who I can expect?'

Harry leaned back in his chair and placed his knife and fork on the table. 'I went to see Rita Skeeter today; I took the liberty of issuing a little appeal on Draco's behalf. It will be in the _Prophet _tomorrow.'

'Appeal?' asked Lucius, practically the first word spoken to Harry since he took up residence at the Manor. 'What sort of appeal?' He sounded aghast.

'An appeal for witnesses. I have requested for anyone who might have seen anything suspicious the day of Cho's death to come here at twelve thirty tomorrow. I am hoping to glean some information that the investigating Aurors might have missed. I don't have the time to hunt down potential witnesses so I am hoping this will induce them to come to me.'

Lucius barked a short laugh. 'Fat chance,' he replied. 'You'll be lucky if anyone shows up. People generally don't get involved in this sort of thing.'

'That's what I thought too,' replied Harry. 'It's why I said you would be offering a ten thousand Galleon reward to anyone who can help get Draco out of prison. That might pluck at the conscience of one or two people.' He took a moment to enjoy the impact of these words. Lucius turned red – no; almost purple, such was his state of apoplexy. On the other hand, Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow and he could see the cynical amusement in her eyes.

'How dare you!' spluttered Lucius. 'You had no right to presume so much. I will pay no such…'

'Oh, be quiet, Lucius,' Narcissa interrupted calmly. 'If Harry discovers something that proves Draco's innocence then it is cheap at the price.' She turned to face Harry. 'It's a very good idea, Harry, but isn't there a danger that you might attract the wrong sort? I expect that the Manor will be busy tomorrow with the promise of so much gold.' She was smiling as she said this.

'I think so too,' Harry replied, 'but don't worry; I have a trick or two up my sleeve to get rid of the timewasters.'

'I will not allow this,' snarled Lucius. 'I will not see my family home turned into some kind of circus. There is no telling what sort of person will turn up. There could even be Mudbloo…'

'Don't you dare!' snarled Harry. 'Don't you dare utter that word in my presence!' He took a deep breath, realising that Narcissa was eying him with something like fear. 'This may be your house but I will not tolerate that word spoken in my presence. If I hear it once more then I am walking from this case.' Lucius made to retort but Harry cut him off. 'In case you have forgotten, my assistant on this case is Hermione Granger. Remember her, Lucius? That's one Muggle born who has already "visited" this house, though I fancy she didn't appreciate the reception she received! I trust she will be better treated if she agrees to come here tomorrow?' He noticed the sudden flush of guilt on the faces of both the Malfoys.

'She will be welcome here, Harry,' replied Narcissa quietly, quickly casting a stern look at her husband as she spoke. 'She is another that we must make amends to, if she will permit it' She glanced once again at her husband before continuing. 'Never fear; that word will not be repeated in this house and I will do all that I can to make Miss Granger as comfortable as possible tomorrow.' She turned to face him directly. 'Many follies were committed in this house but I can assure you that I shall endeavour to atone for those mistakes for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, my husband seems to find that old habits die hard.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry, before turning to face the elder Malfoy. For a long moment the two men sat glaring at one another before Lucius suddenly threw his napkin on the table and abruptly scraped his chair back before strutting out of the room. Harry watched him go and did not attempt to disguise his contempt.

'I'm sorry, Harry. There is no excuse for his behaviour,' said Narcissa quietly. Harry turned to face her and despite the circumstances, managed a smile.

'There is no need for you to apologise on his behalf; he's supposed to be an adult – he makes his own decisions. And thank you for promising to make Hermione welcome – I'm not sure yet if she will come.'

Narcissa smiled but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. 'Well, if she does, I will do my best to make her at ease. She is helping my son, after all.' She regarded him for a moment before looking away. When she spoke next, her voice seemed to come from a distance. 'Do you really think you will get Draco out of there?'

'Yes,' he said, firmly. 'We will get him out of there. Draco is innocent and if I have to I will break him out of that cell myself. But I don't believe it will come to that. I know he didn't do it and when I do find out who is behind all of this they better hope that the Aurors get to them before I do. Whoever is doing this killed my friend too,' he added.

Narcissa nodded gravely. 'And you think the answer to all of this may be in Ron's files?'

'It might be. Cho Chang met with him before he died. I don't believe in coincidences – there must be a connection. If the answer is not in Ron's files then it is at Gringotts.' He smiled. 'Don't worry; if it's there then Hermione will dig it out. You've never seen her once she gets her teeth into a problem – she doesn't let go.'

'All the more reason for me to make amends,' replied Narcissa. 'Do not worry, Harry; I will make sure that my husband does not upset anyone tomorrow.' Her voice was like steel as she said this.

Harry smiled before picking up his knife and fork and continuing with his meal.

_Lucius had better watch his step._

The next Morning, Harry found himself back in the Ministry approaching Hermione's office. He was not in a good mood; he had spent hours pouring over Ron's files and as yet had uncovered nothing of value. As a result, he was tired and irritable and was beginning to have doubts about this angle of the investigation. It was entirely possible that whoever was responsible for all of this might have covered their tracks.

He entered Hermione's office and was not surprised to see her bright eyed and in a chirpy mood. _How does she manage it? No one should be so bloody happy this early in the morning._

'Good morning, Harry,' said Hermione brightly. Harry just grunted in response before helping himself to some coffee from the machine on her desk.

'Seen this yet?' asked Hermione. He glanced up and noticed that she held a copy of the _Daily Prophet._ 'Rita has been as good as her word,' she added, handing him the paper.

Harry took it and glanced at the front page. Rita _had_ come through for them; the whole page was devoted to his appeal for witnesses and he smiled grimly as he realised that this ought to worry someone. He just hoped that it would bear fruit.

'So what do we do now?' asked Hermione. 'We have until twelve thirty to work on something else before we have to go to Malfoy Manor.' Her tone gave away exactly what she thought of this.

'Will you be OK going there? I know that the last time you were there…' he left the rest unsaid.

'I'll manage, Harry. 'I'll need to. So what do we do now? Find anything in Ron's files?' she asked, keen to change the subject.

'Not a thing, but I still have quite a bit to go through. What about you; any word from Gringotts?'

She shook her head. 'Not yet, but don't worry – these things can take time.' She leaned back in her chair. 'So what's the plan today?'

'I don't know to be honest. I was hoping Ragnok would have replied by now so I'm…'

He stopped speaking. Stopped because a small barn owl had flown into the office and landed gently on the desk. To his surprise, it proffered a leg towards him rather than Hermione. Curious, he removed the rolled parchment and watched as the little owl darted out of the room. He shared a quick look of bemusement with Hermione before beginning to read.

'It's from Dung,' he finally said once he had read the missive. 'I think he's found something; he wants us to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron in half an hour.' He looked up, a smile on his face. 'Well, at least we don't have to worry about what we are going to do this morning,' he said.

Hermione didn't reply; instead, she raised an eyebrow and wondered what Dung might have uncovered. This day might prove to be very interesting.

Thirty minutes later, Harry and Hermione allowed themselves to be led into a back room of the Leaky Cauldron by Tom. A few heads had turned when they had entered the tavern but no one had passed comment and Harry was grateful that Dung had had the wit to book a room in order to remain unseen.

_Wit? Low cunning more like._

He waited while Tom opened the door to one of the rooms and gave the old barman a curt nod as he entered, Hermione right behind him. The room was sparse; only a scrubbed wooden table and a few battered old chairs lay within but Harry did not care; what was important right now was the occupant and he smiled as he took in the familiar crumpled form of Mundungus Fletcher.

'Morning, Dung. You have something for me?' he asked, sounding more cheerful than he actually felt.

Mundungus waited until the door was closed before replying. 'Hiya, Harry; Hermione,' he began. 'I think I might have found something of interest to you.'

'Fire away,' replied Harry as he took a seat. 'We're all ears, Dung.'

Mundungus looked guarded for a moment. 'You did say there would be a reward?' he asked.

'If you have anything useful then Narcissa Malfoy will cover you in gold, Dung. Now what is it?'

The petty crook took a moment to reply. Finally he sat down across from Harry and waited for Hermione to take a seat too. 'Do you remember Willie Widdershins?' he finally asked.

'I remember him,' replied Hermione, surprised. 'Wasn't he the one who told Umbridge about our DA meeting in the Hog's Head?'

'That's him,' agreed Harry. 'What about him, Dung? You're not telling me that he's the one behind all this are you? It's hardly his style; the last "major" crime he was involved in was those regurgitating toilets, wasn't it?'

'That's why I had to speak to you, Harry,' replied Mundungus. 'Willie is moving in more exalted circles these days.'

'Meaning what, exactly?' asked Harry.

'Meaning that he's suddenly become a major player in the criminal world and that he's absolutely loaded these days. I haven't seen him for months but I saw him at lunchtime yesterday in the Hog's Head and he was rolling in coin. I tried to speak to him but I was told to bugger off by a couple of henchmen that were guarding him. That's not like Willie at all; me and him go way back and he's the worst bloody crook in the world.'

'The worst?' asked Hermione, surprised. 'He doesn't sound that bad – more of a petty thief rather than evil, surely?'

Dung shook his head. 'I don't mean "worst" as in evil, Hermione. I mean "worst" as in not very good at being a crook. He's even worse at it than I am and that's saying something.'

'So what's your point, Dung?' asked Harry.

'My point is that he's suddenly become a big shot and I can't get near him to ask him how he managed it. I asked around; spoke to some contacts I have. Someone is bankrolling Willie and providing him with some _serious_ muscle. You ever heard of Jimmy Mullins?'

Hermione watched as Harry searched his memory for the name. She had to admit to herself that she found herself fascinated by this aspect of the wizarding world; she'd had no idea that it had such a seedy underbelly.

'Mullins?' asked Harry. 'Would that be "Leadpipe" Mullins?'

'That's the fella!' replied Dung. 'Well, Leadpipe had a good little racket going in stolen luxury goods – you know, broomsticks, invisibility cloaks – that sort of thing. Top of the range stuff and serious money changing hands.'

'And?' asked Harry.

'And Willie bloody Widdershins has taken over his racket,' replied Dung. 'Someone must have warned Leadpipe off because he didn't put up a fight. That's not like him at all.'

Hermione could not quite understand the profound silence that followed this statement. She felt the need to have something else explained, though.

'Why is he called "Leadpipe"?' she asked. Mundungus regarded her almost piteously.

'Let's just say that Jimmy Mullins takes a more…_Muggle_ approach to anyone trying to muscle in on his territory. In the past he's used hammers, pick handles and even a shovel once, but a piece of lead piping seems to be his implement of choice when getting rid of business rivals. He runs a bar in the East End and the locals refer to it as the Bermuda Triangle.'

'Why?'

'Because loads of people have been seen entering the place and are then mysteriously never heard from again.'

And Hermione suddenly understood. Mullins sounded like an extremely dangerous man and Willie Widdershins had somehow managed to take over his operation. _Something smells here._ She turned as Harry finally replied.

'Now that _is_ interesting,' he said. 'Are you suggesting that he had help?'

'Of course I am. Willie could never have done this on his own; he's got very serious people behind him and some very heavy protection but he won't tell me how he managed it. If you ask me, he's doing some very dirty work for someone and this is his reward.'

'By "dirty work" you mean you think he might know where the escaped Deatheaters are? That he's been helping them?' asked Harry.

'I think he might, Harry. As you said; someone has to be getting them what they need and the only thing Willie was ever any good at was procuring things discreetly. If he's helping them then it would explain why he's suddenly become King Rat down our way.' He touched the side of his nose. 'I may not be the sharpest tool in the box but I do know how to find out what's going on.'

'How do you do that?' asked Hermione.

'I follow the money,' replied Mundungus. 'No matter whether the crime is big or small, you follow the money to find out who is behind it. That's what I did here. Harry asked me to check out anything suspicious and believe me, there is nothing more suspicious that suddenly discovering that Willie Widdershins is a rich and powerful gangster. It would be like Harry becoming a successful Deatheater or Lucius Malfoy becoming a top campaigner for elf rights. _It doesn't add up_.'

Hermione shared a meaningful look with Harry at these words_. Follow the money. That's what we're going to do isn't it? That's why I'm going to Gringotts._

After a long pause, Harry finally spoke. 'Well, thanks, Dung. This is certainly worth checking out. It sounds like Willie and I need to have a little chat. Where can I find him these days?'

'You can still get him in the Hog's Head most evenings, Harry. I suggest you try there but be careful; Willie does have some heavy companions these days.' He paused before continuing. 'If he is involved, go easy on him. Willie is a friend of mine and if he's mixed up in this shit then it's because he's stupid, not because he's evil. It actually makes me feel better telling you this; I normally wouldn't grass on a mate but if I'm right then Willie needs help; he's in way over his head.'

Harry smiled. 'Don't you worry about me, Dung; I can take care of Willie - and his goons. But I should tell you, if he's been helping escaped Deatheaters then he's in a whole heap of trouble. He's looking at a stretch in Azkaban but I will see what I can do. It sounds like he doesn't know what he's gotten himself into. And if anything comes of this I will make sure that you get what's due, Dung. I'll be in touch,' he added as he got to his feet. 'C'mon, Hermione; we have a few enquiries to make. And Dung?' he added before leaving. 'Make sure you keep this to yourself.'

Mundungus watched them leave and considered Harry's parting words.

_Don't you worry about that, Harry; more than my life's bloody worth to blab to anyone about this shit._


	13. Return to the Manor

**Return to the Manor**

Harry glanced at his watch and sighed as he realised that it was time for them to depart. They had returned to Hermione's office after leaving the Leaky Cauldron and had spent the rest of the morning poring over Ron's notes but all to no avail. Just deciphering the seemingly random workings of his friend was proving to be impossible. While Harry knew that he was not the most organised of individuals, Ron's workings made him seem almost as methodical as Minerva McGonagall in comparison. He now vaguely began to understand why he sometimes drove Hermione to distraction when things were not done in the prescribed manner.

He looked over to where Hermione was sitting and could tell immediately that she was nervous. He knew that she was not looking forward to returning to Malfoy Manor - the scene of her personal torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange – but he could not figure out a way to alleviate her tension. While being good at deciphering Hermione's moods, he was not yet particularly adept at acting on them.

_Besides, Lestrange was dead_, he thought with no small degree of satisfaction. _Hermione has nothing to worry about now. You just have to make her realise this._

'Are you OK?' he finally asked. 'It's just that it's time for us to get going if we are going to get to the Manor for twelve thirty.'

Hermione looked up from the file she was reading and nodded her head. She was actually dreading the return despite Harry's assurances that Narcissa wanted to make amends for what had happened to her the last time she was there. She had been brutalised by Bella and no amount of time and distance could completely eradicate that simple fact. It had been one of the worst experiences of her entire life, beaten only by how she felt when she heard that Ron had been killed and also when she saw Hagrid carrying what she thought was the dead body of Harry in front of the gates of Hogwarts. They were all moments that she would rather forget but she was conscious of the fact that they would remain with her for the rest of her life. But she also knew that if she did not go to Malfoy Manor today, she would be allowing Bella a victory of sorts – even in death. She had to prove to herself that she was still a Gryffindor.

She placed the file on her desk and stood to retrieve her coat from the peg. She could see the concern radiating in Harry's eyes as he regarded her.

'Don't worry,' she said softly. 'I will be fine. Besides,' she added with a smile, 'I have you with me, so what could possibly go wrong?'

Harry recognised the tone and despite his concern he smiled in return. 'Go wrong? With me?' He seemed to consider the question. 'Everything,' he finally replied, his grin widening. 'You have known me for nearly thirteen years, _Granger_; have you learned nothing?'

Hermione laughed and it made her feel better. 'Well, _Potter_; I was hoping that maybe your luck has finally turned.' She held her arm out in a crook. 'Care to escort a poor little girl into harm's way?' she asked coyly.

Harry smiled. 'Of course, my lady,' he replied, linking his arm in hers. They stood for a moment staring at each other, both lost in their thoughts. Finally Harry smiled again. 'Let's get this over with,' he said as he led them out of the door.

A few moments later, Hermione and Harry materialised with a soft _pop_ in one of the many rooms in Malfoy Manor. Hermione took a moment to get her bearings, surprised that they had been able to Apparate straight into the house, remembering that it was supposed to be one of the most secure locations in the country. She cast her glance around the room noticing immediately that it was very sparsely furnished. It contained a single bed, a rather battered looking old table and a shabby looking chair. There was no carpet or rug on the floor to cover the stripped wooden floorboards and there was only a solitary candle perched on a rough looking bedside cabinet to offer any light after dark. She was surprised by this, having expected the Manor to be richly decorated. She glanced at Harry and realised that he seemed to be reading her thoughts.

'It's my room; well, for the moment anyway,' he explained. 'It's how I was able to Apparate us both into the house. The wards protecting this place are almost as strong as those at Hogwarts but Narcissa keyed me into them. She also made it possible for me to drag you along too.' He smiled suddenly. 'Poor Lucius had a fit when he heard that I had asked the potential witnesses to come here. Apparently he was up half the night making it possible for people to find this place. Narcissa would have killed him had he refused.'

Hermione smiled at his comment, realising that even after all these years, he still took pleasure in annoying Lucius Malfoy. _Some things don't change._ Something else was bothering her though.

'Harry?' she asked, unsure how to phrase her next question. 'I thought the Malfoy's were well off?'

'They are.'

She gestured around the sparse room with a sweep of her hand, knowing that she did not need to vocalise her next question. Harry smiled.

'I wasn't too keen about staying here at first so I asked her for the most basic room she had and she gave me this. She seemed a little put out that I didn't want something grander but she never pressed me to explain. It used to be a servants room, so I guess it's appropriate. I am the hired help, after all,' he added, amusement in his tone.

'Why did you want a basic room?' she asked.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know…I guess it's just what I'm used to these days. I suppose I wasn't too comfortable sleeping with the enemy so I made a point of trying not to enjoy the experience. I guess I just haven't got round to asking Narcissa for something better yet.'

'You like Narcissa now?' she asked. 'She's no longer "the enemy"?

Harry considered the question then smiled ruefully. 'Yeah; she's grown on me a bit. She really is a quite remarkable person and I know that she'd do anything for Draco. I guess she is everything a mother is supposed to be but there is a lot more to her than that. You should see how she deals with Lucius – she's definitely the brains in that partnership. And she is really sorry for everything that happened. I think Lucius is still the same as ever but I really believe that Narcissa has changed and is trying to make up for what her family did. She's made me very welcome here – I had nowhere else to go.'

Hermione considered this for a moment, knowing that she had to say what was on her mind despite the trouble it might cause.

'You know you could have stayed with me,' she said softly, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. Harry looked uncomfortable.

'Well, I wasn't sure what sort of reception I could expect from you.' He looked at his feet. 'Besides; I wasn't sure if I wanted to see you,' he added in a quiet voice.

She really was hurt by this comment. 'You didn't want to see me? You hated me that much?' she asked carefully. She knew that they shouldn't be doing this right now but she couldn't let it go.

Harry shook his head. 'It's not like that; not like that at all. Of course I never hated you. I could never hate you, Hermione. It's just that I thought you were still angry with me...let me finish,' he added, holding up his hand as he noticed her about to interrupt. 'I thought you were still angry with me and I was afraid that I might hurt you again.' He looked away for a moment and when he spoke next his voice was barely a whisper. 'I hurt you, Hermione. Really hurt you. I should never have abandoned you but I thought what I did changed you for the worse and I couldn't live with myself for that. I was afraid to face you again in case you were no longer the person you were.'

'But I'm not the same person. I've changed. We all have.'

Harry shook his head. 'Not in what matters you haven't. You are still the same loving, generous person you always were. Who else would have stuck by me the way you did?' he asked rhetorically. 'Now that I know this to be true I can live with what happened. But I didn't know this when I returned. That's why I agreed to stay here.'

She considered his words for a moment trying to decide what to say in response. Her initial reaction was one of anger; how _could he prefer to stay here rather than see me?_ But then she remembered that he had been through as much pain and anguish as she had – in fact, probably even more. _I wasn't rejected by those that love me._ She had been very lonely since Harry had left but she'd had the Weasleys to offer some comfort. Harry had no one. Then she remembered just how fragile he was at the minute despite his seemingly relaxed air when he was with her. It wasn't worth risking the progress they had made together over something that could not be changed. And last – but by no means least – she was aware that she never could stay angry with him for long. Staying angry with Harry was like kicking a puppy. _I should probably get mad about that too,_ she thought ruefully, aware of the irony. But whatever his reasons for staying away at first, those reasons were no longer valid.

'Why don't you come and stay with me now?' she asked suddenly, surprising them both. She noticed the astonished look on his face and decided to elaborate. 'I've got a spare room and while it's not as basic as this, I don't think it's too grand for you at the moment,' she added, trying to inject some humour into the situation.

'Stay with you?' Harry repeated.

'It makes sense when you think about it. We are working together at the moment and it might be an idea to stay in close contact. Time is precious and it would let us work longer on the case.' She tried to sound detached, almost as if it was of no concern, but her thoughts told a different story. _Please don't reject me. I'm so lonely; I can't face the empty rooms anymore. Please._

Unknown to her, Harry was thinking very similar thoughts. His initial shock at the question had passed but he was still reeling. _I can't; I can't stay with her right no_w_. I'm not ready for this._ He noticed that she was trying to appear unconcerned but he knew her too well; he could see in her eyes that she was fearful of his rejection and it occurred to him for the very first time that she might be as lonely as he was. He felt a sudden surge of love and pity for her, quickly followed by a feeling of self-reproach_. _He cursed inwardly, despising himself for his selfishness._ Even now, I'm thinking about me first. This isn't about me; this is about Hermione! I owe her this; she has done everything for me; stuck by me despite all the fuck-up's I've made. Am I such a prick that I would deny her now, after everything? _He finally realised just how selfish he had been to her; not just recently but all those times over the years when he had put his own and Ron's needs before hers. _It was time for that to end. It was time I started acting like the friend I should be._

'I'd love to,' he finally replied.

'Really?' she asked, and Harry could detect the relief and hope in her voice. He smiled and nodded.

'Really. Thank you,' he added. On a sudden impulse he held out his hands and within moments she was in his arms as they embraced to seal their new agreement. Harry took his time to enjoy the sensation; squeezing her tight and feeling her hair as it tickled his neck. He closed his eyes, wondering how he had ever been so lucky to find a friend as true as the one he now held.

After what seemed like an age, he finally released his grip and looked down into her eyes. He smiled.

'C'mon,' he said softly. 'While I would love to stand here like this all day, we have a murder to solve.' He noticed her smile at his words as they drew apart. He held out his hand and was pleased to see her take it without a moment's hesitation.

Giving her hand a soft squeeze, he opened the door of his room and led her to meet their hostess.

Hermione found her emotions in turmoil as she allowed Harry to lead her through the long hallways of Malfoy Manor. She was nervous in these surroundings but found comfort in the strong grip of her friend. She was also trying to process what had just happened between them and congratulated herself for suddenly asking him to come and live with her. She had not intended to make such an offer but now he had accepted, she felt happier than she could remember for a long time.

_And then he held me._ She almost shivered as she recalled the experience. It was the same as when he had held her in Draco's flat and yet it was different too. She felt such a sense of belonging when he held her like that and it occurred to her again that she could think of nothing or no one that came close to making her feel like that. It was almost troubling in its way, but on the other hand, she reasoned, _how can something that makes me feel so good, be bad?_

She shook her head to clear away the thoughts and allowed her eyes to drink in the surroundings; the splendour and ostentation that was Malfoy Manor. She'd been wrong in her initial assessment; the Malfoys were not merely "well off;" on the evidence of the rich furnishings and antique furniture on display, they were absolutely loaded. _No wonder Draco always strutted around everywhere like he owned the place. He probably did._

They finally arrived at a small drawing room and Hermione turned her eyes from her surroundings to focus on the three people who stood to greet her. She recognised immediately the familiar faces of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy but the third person she did not know. She took a deep breath.

'Ah, Harry. So good to see you,' said Narcissa with a smile. She turned her attention to Hermione. 'And so good to see you too, Miss Granger. You are welcome in my home. My husband you know, of course, but please allow me to introduce you to Vladimir Blackhouse, my family's lawyer.'

Hermione shook hands with Narcissa and the lawyer but noticed that Lucius made no attempt to do likewise. She ignored this slight for the moment, instead turning her attention to her hostess. It occurred to her that Narcissa Malfoy was nervous too, despite her calm demeanour.

'Please take a seat; there are some things I would like to discuss with you before we begin,' said Narcissa. Hermione allowed Harry to lead them to one of the sofas and sat down next to him. She did not let go of his hand. When she looked up she noticed that Lucius and Blackhouse were excusing themselves, leaving just the three of them in the room. Narcissa sat in an armchair across from them.

'I don't really know where to start, Miss Granger,' she began, 'so I suppose I should start by offering you my most sincere apologies for what happened to you the last time you were in this house. I regret that I ever allowed myself to get involved with such events and I can only promise you that I will endeavour to make amends for past mistakes.'

Hermione nodded her acceptance. 'Please; call me Hermione. Miss Granger makes me sound too old,' she said with a faint smile. She paused for a moment before continuing. 'If you don't mind me asking; why _did_ you get involved with Voldemort? I can understand why you wish to atone, but I cannot fathom why you ever went down that path in the first place.'

She saw Narcissa flinch at the name and almost regretted her question. _Even now he holds a power over some people._ But in order for her to accept that Narcissa Malfoy was sincere, she _had_ to try to understand the woman. Harry was always a bit more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt; she was somewhat more cynical at times.

'A fair question,' Narcissa finally replied. 'And one that Harry here has yet to ask me.' She licked her lips, clearly debating what to say next. 'It is hard to explain. At first we thought that he was the answer to our needs. You will be aware from knowing my cousin Sirius that the Black family held certain _views_ about the way our society was run.' She shrugged. 'I was brought up in such an environment. I do not say this to excuse myself – Sirius proved that one was capable of choosing one's own path – I only offer it as an explanation for believing in the things I did. Unfortunately, once I and my husband had offered our support to the Dark Lord there was no going back. One did not resign from his service. When he returned I lived in fear for my son and for myself. I guess that it boils down to the fact that I never had your courage, unfortunately.'

'You did in the end,' replied Hermione. 'Harry would have died had you not lied to Riddle.'

'I did that to save my son,' replied Narcissa, her eyes flicking to Harry. 'I did not defy him to save Harry's life or to bring about the Dark Lord's defeat; I did it only because my son was in danger and because I knew Harry was the only hope of saving him. I am not proud to admit this but it is the truth.' She laughed bitterly. 'Hardly the most noble of reasons, wouldn't you say?'

'On the contrary,' replied Hermione, now convinced. 'I can't think of a better reason for finally defying him than doing so for the love of one's family. In the end you _did_ defy him when he looked certain to win. That is all that matters and says more about your true beliefs than anything else. When it mattered – _really _mattered – you did what was right.'

Narcissa seemed to consider the words. 'Thank you for saying that, Hermione. I can see why Harry thinks so highly of you,' she finally replied. She took a deep breath. 'I want to stress again that you are most welcome here. I am more grateful than you will ever know that you have agreed to help my son. For that I will always be in your debt. But I should add that you would be welcome here anyway. I know that you are a true friend to Harry and that is sufficient for me to judge your character.' She smiled, turning her attention to Harry again. 'I know that Harry holds you in particularly high regard and that is all I need to know about you.' She smiled. 'I have come to grow _quite fond_ of Mr Potter these past few days and I have learned to trust his judgement.'

Despite herself, Hermione smiled too. 'He does that, doesn't he? I could almost hate him for it if it wasn't for the fact that he's so damn likeable.'

Narcissa laughed. 'Yes; I have discovered that for myself. It seems Harry here has a certain way with people. He certainly knows how to bring the worst out of my husband,' she added ruefully.

'Hey!' said Harry. 'Am I invisible? Stop talking about me as if I wasn't here! Is this a female conspiracy or something?'

Hermione noticed that his cheeks were flushed red and she cast a quick glance at Narcissa who was doing her best not to laugh. Finally, she let herself go and laughed herself, releasing the nerves and anxiety she had been feeling. She mentally congratulated Narcissa for so adroitly putting her at ease and noticed that the older woman had joined in the laughter too. Harry looked distinctly nonplussed.

'Well,' said Narcissa finally, 'it's nice to finally meet you under happier circumstances, Hermione, and whilst I would like to chat further, I fear that we must go and greet our guests. It's nearly half past twelve.' She turned to Harry. 'I do hope you have something in mind, Harry; it would seem that your appeal has been more than successful. Apparently _quite a few_ people have responded. I suspect the prospect of a large reward had induced some less than savoury characters to come out of the woodwork. I fear that we may need to come up with a way of rooting out the timewasters.'

Harry smiled having recovered his composure. 'Don't worry about that; I've learned a thing or two about people over the years. I think I can deal with this,' he added, getting to his feet.

Hermione stood too and found Harry standing close, staring straight at her. He leaned forward.

'Just go along with everything I say,' he whispered before turning and heading for the door.

She watched him go and was aware of a sense of bemusement as she tried to work out what he had in mind. She was also aware of a sudden feeling of loss as she realised that he was no longer holding her hand. Sighing, she turned to follow when she noticed Narcissa giving her a very shrewd look. She noticed a small smile play at the corner of her hostess' mouth and had an educated guess as to what amusing her. Flushing herself, she nodded to Narcissa and followed her friend out of the door, aware that the smile on the older woman's face had just broadened.

_Damn it, Harry! How do you do it?_

A few moments later, Hermione found herself standing on a raised platform at the head of a vast room which she guessed must be a ballroom of some sort. When she had stepped through the door from the adjacent corridor, she had been gob smacked by the sheer scale of the room and the richness of the furnishings. What had really taken her breath away, however, was the number of people who had gathered in response to the appeal. She felt her stomach heave in disappointment.

'Harry!' she hissed. She waited until he turned to face her. 'There must be at least fifty people here! We don't have the time to speak to them all.' She noticed that Lucius Malfoy was watching them and it was with a degree of anger that she realised that he was regarding them with a smug look on his face. She turned back to Harry, surprised to see him smiling.

'Don't worry; I told you I have learned a thing or two about human nature. Most of the people here are timewasters so I just need to get rid of them. I mean look at them; it's so obvious that some of them are here only for the money. They might as well have brought some shovels and sacks to show their intentions. Just watch,' he added, before moving to the front of the throng. Hermione shook her head, not fully understanding what he intended. She cast her gaze on the crowd of people standing before her and realised that there was quite a mix of personalities. Harry was right; there were more than a good few who looked a bit dodgy and she noted with surprise that there seemed to be a disproportionate number of young women – girls, she realised - in the room, many of whom were clustered in groups and giggling. She began to wonder if this had any significance before her train of thought was interrupted as Harry began to speak.

'Thank you all for coming,' he said in a loud voice. He was smiling as he regarded the host in front of him and did not seem at all perturbed. 'Before we begin,' he continued, 'I have a few announcements to make. First; it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that the reward on offer for information has been withdrawn. It would appear that I presumed too much when I made this available, for Mr Malfoy has made it plain that he has no such funds at his disposal at the moment. I can only apologise and stress that no attempt to mislead you was intended. If any of you have gone to any expense to come here today, please give your details to one of the elves and I will see that you are reimbursed for any _reasonable_ costs.'

_What is he playing at?_ thought Hermione, stunned by his words. It took a moment to realise what he was up to for after a few seconds, a collective groan could be heard from the audience and to her surprise, she saw that a considerable number of people began to file out of the room. It occurred to her that he had hit upon a perfect method of weeding out the gold diggers. _Very clever, Harry._

She watched as Harry stood in silence as he waited for the last person to leave. At a stroke, he had removed over half of the people who had turned up. She glanced across to where the Malfoy's were standing and noticed that Narcissa was regarding Harry with a look of admiration while Lucius finally had the smug grin wiped off his face. She turned back as Harry continued and became aware that the room now had a distinctly… _feminine_ aura to it. She could almost _feel _the hormones.

'I must add that while I had intended to interview you all personally, I have unfortunately received a summons from the Minister and must depart immediately. However, my very capable assistant, Hermione Granger, will be only too happy to speak to you all,' he added with a winning smile as he turned to face her.

Hermione flushed as all attention in the room was turned on her. _What are you doing, Harry? I'm going to kill you for this!_ It was then that she heard a lot of high pitched squeals of disappointment and she found herself once again lost in admiration for what Harry was doing. She watched as nearly everyone remaining in the room began to leave and she realised that every one of them was a young witch. It occurred to her that they had only come along to be interviewed by "the great Harry Potter" and now that this opportunity had been removed, they were leaving in droves. She flushed even more as she noticed some of them cast her dirty looks as they filed out; jealous of her close relationship with their hero. When she looked up she saw that Narcissa was doing her best not to laugh at her predicament and when she turned back to face the crowd she noticed something else quite startling.

Only two people remained.

She turned back to Harry and saw that he was receiving admiring glances from Narcissa and Vladimir Blackhouse. He had a sheepish – almost embarrassed – look on his face as he turned to the remaining pair. He smiled broadly at them and she reckoned that this was the first genuine smile he had given since first entering this room. _Well done, Harry._

'Might I ask your names, Sir, Madam?' Harry gently asked the middle aged couple who seemed to be in awe of their surroundings.

'It's Rodgers, Sir,' replied the woman. 'Elizabeth Rodgers and this is my husband Jack. He's a Muggle,' she added.

Hermione shot a quick glance at Lucius and noticed his lip curled in a sneer as he looked upon the remaining pair. He obviously was not enjoying having such company. _Good._

'Well, thank you for coming Elizabeth. And there is no need to call me "Sir" – Harry will do. Now; can you tell me a bit about yourself?' he asked.

'Yes. Si…I mean, yes, Harry. I work as a cleaner in the same apartment building that young Mr Malfoy lives in and I thought you ought to know what I saw that terrible day. I thought the Aurors would have asked me by now, but they don't seem interested in the likes of us.'

She looked nervous, Hermione thought. Her eyes were darting around the room and she wondered what was causing the woman to feel such distress. She decided to try and help.

'Well, Elizabeth; Harry and I are certainly interested in anything you have to say.' She smiled. 'Why don't you tell us what you know?'

The woman seemed reassured by the friendly tone and took a deep breath before continuing. 'Well, I had just finished my shift and I was leaving for the day.'

'What time was this?' asked Harry.

'I don't know the exact time but it must have been...about ten past one?' she hazarded. 'I was just going home for my lunch.'

'And what did you see?' asked Harry.

'It was what I heard. There was raised voices coming from Mr Malfoy's flat – it was clear that an argument was going on.' She looked embarrassed. 'I like young Mr Malfoy – he's always quite civil to me and…well, I have to admit that I can be a bit nosy sometimes so I hung around to see if I could find out what was going on. I couldn't really hear anything, but just as I got closer, the door opened and a man stormed out. He didn't see me, but I saw him. I thought you might want to know.'

Silence greeted these words; a silence that you could almost feel. Hermione felt a rush of excitement within her.

'Would you be able to describe this man to us?' she asked, breathlessly, unaware of a slight commotion beginning behind her.

Elizabeth Rodgers turned and faced her, a strange look on her face, clearly still very nervous. 'I _could _have described him to you, but I don't need to anymore,' she replied.

'Why not?' asked Hermione, clearly perplexed.

'Because he's standing right over there,' replied Elizabeth, a look of determination on her face as she pointed straight at the ashen face of Lucius Malfoy.

**a/n Some of you may recognise the origins of the scene above from the TV series _Lie to Me_ starring the excellent Tim Roth. I was much struck by it when I saw it and thought that the way in which Roth's character uses similar techniques to weed out gold diggers was worth repeating.**


	14. Conference & Confession

**Conference and Confession**

Three minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Narcissa were back in the room where they had been chatting earlier, only on this occasion it was Lucius Malfoy who was sitting in the comfortable armchair. There were no pleasantries in evidence this time, Hermione thought. After tossing him into the chair, Harry had glanced at her and she had understood his look immediately. Taking out her wand she had conjured ropes that bound the elder Malfoy tightly in place. Now Harry stood in front of his old enemy and there was a look of fury on his face as he regarded the man who had caused them all so much grief.

All hell had broken loose after Elizabeth Rodgers had singled out Lucius. Narcissa had turned on her husband and – all sense of decorum and detachment now lost – began raining blows on him, screaming at him as she did so. It had taken both Harry and Vladimir Blackhouse some considerable effort to haul her away from Lucius before Harry had taken charge of the situation. Still gripping Narcissa tightly by the cloak, he had ordered Blackhouse to take Mr and Mrs Rodgers to an adjoining room to interview them further. He had then turned and whispered something in Narcissa's ear that finally seemed to calm her down somewhat. Then he had grabbed Lucius by the collar and unceremoniously dragged him out of the room before literally throwing him into the chair like a rag doll, despite the vehement protestations from the master of Malfoy Manor. She and Narcissa had followed and she'd been careful to keep within grabbing distance of her hostess, worried that she might suddenly spring to attack her husband again. Narcissa had a murderous look on her face and Hermione actually feared what she might do.

'What is the meaning of this?' exclaimed Lucius, evidently indignant. 'You have no right to…'

'Shut up!' shouted Harry as he stepped towards his captive. He had a look of pure fury on his face as he neared Lucius and promptly delivered a swift kick to the elder Malfoy's shin. Lucius blanched at the sudden violence and looked suitably cowed by the expression on Harry's face.

'What the fuck are you playing at, you piece of shit?' continued Harry. The rage he was feeling was evident. 'You're involved in the framing of your own son? What kind of man are you?' The contempt was obvious.

'It's not like that!' exclaimed Lucius, struggling against his bonds as if attempting to avert an attack. 'It's not like that at all! I have nothing to do with this!'

'So why the fuck were you arguing with Draco? He can't remember anything after you knocked on his door; what did you do to him?'

'I did nothing! I really have nothing to do with this!'

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'We can do this one of two ways, Lucius. Either you start talking right now or Hermione and I will walk out of this room and leave you to the tender mercies of your wife. You _will _talk; it's up to you whether you want to do it in pain or not. You decide.'

Lucius cast a fearful look in Narcissa's direction and swallowed. His eyes flit around the room as if looking for some means of escape but he quickly came to appreciate the bind he was in. He looked back to Harry and nodded his submission.

'I went to warn him,' he croaked.

'Warn him? What about?' snapped Harry.

'Warn him that the escaped Deatheaters might approach him. I wanted to make sure he was on his guard.' Silence greeted these words before Harry spoke again.

'They had been in touch with you?'

'Yes!' exclaimed Lucius, now sounding desperate. 'I was approached and asked if I wanted to get involved in a mission to gain revenge for the death of the Dark Lord. I refused, but I was told that they would speak to Draco; that the honour of my family was at stake because of Narcissa's betrayal. If I wasn't willing to help then they would find a Malfoy who was.'

'Who approached you?' asked Harry.

'I don't remember his name; he's not someone I had met before. He wasn't even a Deatheater; he was just passing on the message,' replied Lucius. His eyes widened as Harry moved forwards and with the speed of a snake, slapped him across the face.

'Wrong answer! I'll ask you again; who approached you?'

'I can't remember his name! I swear! The man looked terrified! He was a grubby little fellow with a name I hadn't heard before; Wetherspoon or Widdicombe or something like that.'

'Widdershins,' said Harry and Hermione together.

'Yes! Widdershins! That's the name; that's who approached me.'

Hermione gasped as she and Harry shared a look at this information. _Widdershins. Dung had been right._

'So let me get this straight,' began Harry as he started to pace the room. 'You were asked to assist the escapees with a mission and you refused; they threatened to involve Draco so you went to warn him and then the two of you argued? What were you arguing about?'

'He wouldn't take the threat seriously. Said I was insane; that he could look after himself. I wanted him to return to the Manor until they were caught again. He refused; told me he wanted nothing to do with me. We fought. We always fight these days.'

Hermione watched as Harry stopped his pacing and regarded Lucius in silence. She wasn't sure what he was going to say next but she had a few questions of her own.

'Why didn't you tell us? You knew we needed information and yet you never said a word!'

Lucius turned his attention to her and she saw a broken man sitting before her. Gone were the sneer; the arrogance and the conceit.

'I couldn't,' he croaked. 'I am on my last chance; who would believe my refusal if it was revealed that escaped Deatheaters approached me for help? I would be in Azkaban right now.'

'But instead Draco is in prison, facing the kiss. This is your _son_ we are talking about here,' replied Hermione, contempt in her voice. 'You were not willing to expose yourself to danger even for the sake of your son?'

'I would have done so if it came to it, but I was hoping that something would come up before I had to. I have been to Azkaban, remember? I have no desire to return.'

'Lucius?' asked Harry. 'It is important that you are entirely truthful with me because I will know if you are lying. Do you know where the escaped Deatheaters are?'

Lucius shook his head. 'I don't know anything about that.' He looked up suddenly and there was a hint of defiance in his eyes. 'I do know one thing though; they are not working alone. They must have had help to break out of Azkaban and they are getting some serious financial backing from someone.'

'How do you know this?'

'I have _been_ in Azkaban – I know that escape is impossible without help from outside. Someone made this possible.'

'And the financial backing?' asked Harry. 'How do you know about this?'

'Because when I refused to take part in the mission, I offered them some money to keep in their good books. I was told that they didn't need any money – that they had plenty of money.'

Hermione noticed that Harry took a moment to digest this information. He did not look too pleased at the prospect of four well financed Deatheaters on the loose. _But then, who would be pleased?_

'Did you manage to find out what the mission was?' Harry finally asked.

'No. Once I refused to co-operate, the contact left. I got the impression that he didn't know either. As far as I know, they never acted anyway – there have been no subsequent attacks, have there?'

'Apart from the murder of Cho Chang and the framing of your son, you mean?' snapped Harry. 'I can't believe this! You knew I have been needing information and yet you said nothing! Is there anything else you think I ought to know, Lucius?' There was real menace in Harry's tone.

Lucius didn't reply; instead he hung his head low and shook his head as he stared at the floor. He looked utterly broken. Hermione watched as Harry closed his eyes for a moment before turning and throwing himself on the sofa. He too looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He rubbed his face with both hands, his fingers creeping up behind his glasses as he tried to process what he had just learned.

'So what now?' she asked, already knowing what the answer would be but feeling the need to speak to take Harry out of his sudden depression. Harry took his time before replying.

'Now we pay a visit to Willie Widdershins.' He looked up and she could tell that he was struggling to keep his temper in check. 'It would seem that Willie is the key to this, bizarre as that sounds. Dung was right.' He turned to Narcissa. 'We received some information this morning from a contact of ours that Widdershins might know where the Deatheaters are – your husband has just confirmed this for us. I hope you don't mind, but I promised Mundungus Fletcher a reward if he provided us with any useful information. It would appear that we owe him.'

'Don't worry about that, Harry,' replied Narcissa without taking her eyes off of her husband. When she had spoken her voice had been like ice. 'Money is not an issue; pay him whatever you think is appropriate – just let me know how much you need.' She turned to face him and for the first time Harry saw some doubt in her eyes. 'I am trusting you, Harry. I am trusting that the framing of my son is connected to the death of Ron Weasley for I know that this is the path you are electing to follow.' She paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. 'I know that catching those responsible for Ron's death is important to you but I beg you not to lose sight of the fact that we are running out of time for Draco. I need you to promise me that you will not allow yourself to be distracted from my son's case in order to pursue Ron's killers.' Hermione watched as Narcissa looked Harry directly in the eye and she felt an urge to shiver as she contemplated the intensity of her gaze. Harry seemed to take it in his stride.

'Don't you get it, Narcissa?' he asked quietly. 'You were right; you were right from the start when you said to me that whoever was responsible for framing Draco was also responsible for killing Ron. It _is_ all linked; Cho was meeting with Ron just before his death and then she turns up dead in Draco's bed. She is the key to this; if we can discover why she was murdered we will find out who is behind this. The Carrows, Dolohov and Crabbe may be the tools used in all of this but I don't think they are the people responsible.' His tone hardened. 'I reckon they know who is though.'

Narcissa looked at Harry for a long time before finally nodding her acceptance of the logic. 'So what do I do now?' she asked.

'Nothing,' replied Harry. He indicated to Lucius. 'You make sure that he says nothing of this conversation to anyone and you keep a close eye on him. I will be moving out of the Manor so I will be relying on you to make sure he doesn't do anything foolish. Again. It is vital that our enemies do not know that we are on to them so I would be grateful if you could ask our witnesses not to repeat this either.'

Narcissa nodded. 'It shall be as you say, Harry.' She paused before continuing. 'Why are you moving out? Has my hospitality not been sufficient?'

Harry smiled. 'It has been more than sufficient, thank you. It's just that I will be moving in with Hermione for the time being. She reckons that it will give us more time to work on the case.'

Narcissa turned her attention to Hermione and stared intently at her. For her part, Hermione felt like she was being appraised by the older woman but she didn't flinch. She thought she saw the corners of Narcissa's mouth turn up, revealing the ghost of a smile and she felt herself flush.

'I _understand_,' Narcissa began. 'It makes perfect sense. I'm sure Hermione is quite correct. You will keep an eye on him for me, won't you?' she asked and Hermione felt the gaze intensify. 'Keep him on the right path?'

'I always do,' Hermione replied firmly. 'And don't worry; I agree with Harry. These cases are linked and we will find out who is doing this.' She kept her gaze locked on Narcissa and was surprised when the older woman broke eye contact first. Satisfied, she turned to Harry. 'Are we finished here?'

'Yeah.'

'Then let's go. We have a lot to do.'

'What about me?' asked Lucius, a hint of panic in his voice as he struggled against his bonds. Hermione shared a look with Harry who had the beginnings of a smile on his face before he answered.

'You? We'll be leaving you to the loving care of your good lady wife, Lucius. Have a good day.'

Hermione tried not to laugh as she saw Lucius' eyes widen in fear and the satisfied grin on Narcissa's face. As they made their way out of the room, she leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear.

'What did you say to her in the ballroom to get her to calm down?'

Harry looked surprised at the question but then a grin spread across his face.

'I told her to relax; that she could do with him what she wanted once I had finished questioning him.' His grin broadened. 'I wouldn't be in his shoes for anything,' he added.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione approached the front door of her flat accompanied by Harry who had not said much since leaving Malfoy Manor. They hadn't wasted any time once they had decided to leave – they had gone up to Harry's room where he had collected a small bag that contained all his current possessions before Apparating to her apartment building. She had felt a hint of sadness when she saw how little he had to pack and for the first time, she'd realised just how much Harry had been punishing himself over the past year. She'd felt the need to comment.

'_Is this all you have?' she'd asked._

_Harry had merely shrugged. 'It's all I needed where I was. I have other stuff, but it's all at the old flat. At least it was when I left._

She'd nodded, making a mental note to contact Ginny in order to get the rest of his stuff form their old flat.

_Ginny._

She suppressed a shudder when she considered for the first time just how her friend would react when she discovered that Harry was moving in with her. It was less than twenty four hours since Harry had _officially_ broken off the engagement and now he would be moving in with another woman.

_And I am the other woman. Ginny is going to flip._

_But there is no rational alternative, is there? Harry can't keep staying at Malfoy Manor and he has nowhere else to go. I'm just helping a friend in need, aren't I?_

_Aren't I?_

But would everyone else see it that way? There was bound to be comment – even some resentment when people found out about their new living arrangements. That she was just helping her dearest friend would cut no ice with the gossip mongers. _That's all I'm doing, isn't it? Helping a friend?_

She thought back to the look Narcissa had given her when she had found out about the new arrangements and knew that she at least had seen through the lie. Narcissa Malfoy really was a sharp woman and it was obvious that she suspected ulterior motives for the proposal. _Well, I can't do anything about what people think_, she thought to herself as she finally opened the door.

'Well, here we are,' she said, a little too brightly. 'It's not much, but it is home.'

She turned to watch Harry as he stepped over the threshold and she sensed that he was nervous. He just stood by the door and the two of them looked at one another for a moment as if unsure what to do next. Finally, their attention was diverted as Crookshanks trotted over to see what all the fuss was about.

'Hi Crookshanks,' she said as she crouched down to pet her cat. She was surprised, however, when Crookshanks ignored her and waddled straight over to Harry, rubbing himself against his legs. Harry smiled and leaned down.

'Hiya, Crookshanks. Good to see you too,' he said fondly as he scratched the cat behind the ears. Crookshanks let out a contented purr.

_Traitor!_ thought Hermione, amused at the situation. She was glad though; Crookshanks had broken the ice in what was becoming a rather awkward situation. She waited until Harry had finished.

'The spare room is this way,' she said as nonchalantly as she could. 'The bathroom is at the end of the hall on the right and in there is the study. That's my room here,' she added, pointing to a door on the left at the far end of the hallway.

'I know,' replied Harry, amusement in his voice. 'I've been here before, remember?'

She flushed. _Of course he knew, Damn it!_ 'Well, just make yourself at home. I'll make us some lunch while you get settled in.' She looked at his bag. 'Although don't expect me to finish first. I don't even think I could boil an egg in the time it will take you to unpack,' she added.

Harry stared at her for a few seconds and she thought for a moment that he was annoyed by her comment before he started to laugh.

'Fair enough, Hermione. I won't be long. Boiled egg sounds fine,' he added before disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him.

She stood and stared at the door for a few moments before giving a rueful shake of her head.

_Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all_, she thought as she headed for the kitchen. She had no idea what to make but one thing was for certain, w_e won't be having boiled bloody egg anyway._

She quickly set about making a couple of sandwiches and so was slightly distracted when she was interrupted by an owl tapping on her window. Intrigued, she leaned over and flipped open the catch, allowing the bird to gain entry to the flat. It offered its leg to her and she quickly removed the parchment and began to unroll it as the owl immediately shot off out of the window again. She read the scroll and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she reached the end just as Harry came out of his room.

'Anything interesting?' he asked.

'It's from Ragnok.' She saw him raise an eyebrow, his interest obviously piqued. 'He says we are welcome to go over and see him whenever we want – this afternoon preferably as he has no other appointments. We should probably go as soon as we have something to eat.'

Harry nodded his agreement and made his way into the living room, his eyes flitting around the room as he took in the surroundings. She went back to making lunch but noticed him out of the corner of her eye as he rummaged in his pockets for something. As she finished up and headed to join him she saw that he was holding a mirror similar to the one she had seen Ron use. She handed him a sandwich.

'What are you doing?' she asked, curious.

'It occurred to me that we might have to split up soon,' he replied as he took the plate. 'What; no egg?' he asked with a smile. Hermione just gave him a _look _and Harry took the point. He reddened. 'You said Ragnok might not allow me access to the accounts so I thought that it might be a good idea if we had some method of staying in touch,' he said quickly. He seemed to realise what he was doing. 'I was wondering if you still had Ron's mirror kicking around?' he added in a more controlled voice.

She smiled at his discomfort before replying. She turned and headed for her room. 'Hold on a minute,' she called over her shoulder as she disappeared behind her door. She returned a few moments later holding a mirror. 'This one?' she asked.

He nodded, smiling. 'That's the one. Here; let me see it a second.'

She watched fascinated as Harry took both mirrors and his wand before muttering what sounded like a very complicated charm over them. After a few moments, he handed one back to her. He noticed her quizzical expression.

'I was just fixing them so that only you and I have access to them. Usually, any of the other Aurors would be able to listen in if we use them – I thought it would be safer if it was just the two of us who had access. This way, if we do get split up, we will still be able to speak to each other.'

She was impressed; both by his quick thinking and by the magical knowledge he had just demonstrated. 'So what will you do if we are separated?' she asked.

'I was thinking that it might be a bit difficult to get a hold of Willie Widdershins without drawing attention to ourselves so if Ragnok lets you look at the accounts, I will go and watch him for a bit.'

'On your own? But Dung said he had some heavy protection.'

'I know; that's why it will be difficult to get him unnoticed. I don't want anyone to know that I am after him so I thought I would fetch my old cloak and wait for him at the Hogshead. If it becomes common knowledge that I have spoken to him, the Deatheaters will do a runner and we'll be back to square one.' He saw her look bemused. 'Don't worry; I know what I'm doing,' he added.

She didn't respond to this; instead she gave him what could only be described as sceptical look and she was pleased to see that he at least had the good grace to look sheepish under her scrutiny.

"_I know what I'm doing," indeed_, she thought to herself as she finally bit into her sandwich. _Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose._

Not long afterwards, Harry and Hermione sat in a side room at Gringotts as they waited for Ragnok to admit them into his office. They had Apparated over to the Leaky Cauldron and had made their way down Diagon Alley with Hermione being very conscious of the stares they received from passing witches and wizards. Some had even pointed as they murmured to their companions and she had felt herself reddening under the scrutiny. As usual, Harry seemed to take it all in his stride and she wondered for what must be the thousandth time how he managed to deal with all the attention.

Now as they waited, she decided that it would be best if she laid down a few ground rules for the forthcoming meeting.

'Harry?' she whispered. She waited until he turned to face her. 'It's probably best if you let me do the talking in here; I meet with Ragnok quite regularly and we get on fine. I don't want you annoying him so say as little as possible unless asked. OK?'

Harry seemed bemused by the request but nodded his agreement. He made to reply but was stopped by the sudden appearance of a Goblin who seemed to have materialised out of thin air.

'Miss Granger? Mr Potter? Ragnok will see you now,' he said.

They both stood and allowed themselves to be led into the inner office. Despite having visited on a number of accessions, Hermione could not help but be impressed by the surroundings. The office was made almost entirely of a rich, dark red wood, the room being dominated by a heavy mahogany table that sat plum in the middle of the floor. In the far corner sat a heavy wooden desk and she was pleased to see that Ragnok had stood to greet his guests. He did not afford every visitor such courtesy and she took this as a positive sign as she approached him.

'Miss Granger; Mr Potter; welcome,' said the old Goblin. 'Please; take a seat,' he added as he gestured to two chairs by the desk with a sweeping gesture of his arm. He waited until they were both seated before continuing. 'How may I be of assistance?' he asked as he sat down in his own high backed chair.

Hermione glanced at Harry before replying. 'Thank you for agreeing to see us – we know that you are busy.' She took a breath as Ragnok acknowledged her pleasantry with a nod. 'As you will be aware, we are investigating the murder of Cho Chang and we were hoping you would be able to offer us some assistance.'

'Ah, yes. Miss Chang,' replied Ragnok slowly. 'A most unfortunate event. She was an excellent employee and is sorely missed. What manner of assistance do you seek?' he added. Hermione noticed that he had a guarded expression on his face.

'We were hoping to review some of the accounts that she might have been working on in the months prior to her death. We believe that they may point to whoever was responsible for killing her.'

A long silence greeted these words and Ragnok narrowed his eyes as he regarded her. She made sure not to flinch under his scrutiny, well aware that Goblins took such body language as a sign of weakness. Finally he replied to her request.

'I am afraid that this would be out of the question, Miss Granger. We have very strict rules regarding client confidentiality and I am not inclined to break them in this instance. Besides, Gringotts does not come under the jurisdiction of the Ministry and I am under no obligation to co-operate.'

'We are not obliging you to do anything,' she replied. 'We are merely respectfully requesting your assistance in this matter. I am sure that you are just as concerned as we are about the murder of one of your employees.'

'Yes, we are concerned,' replied the Goblin. 'But unfortunately, I see no way round the problem. You are well aware, Miss Granger, that not all humans share your respect for us. Gringotts is all my people have that is in our own control; I would not willingly allow human interference in the running of my bank. Something amuses you Mr Potter?' he asked suddenly and when Hermione turned she saw to her horror that Harry had a stupid grin on his face.

Harry took a moment to reply. 'I suppose it's not really amusing,' he said airily. 'I was just reflecting that you have a rather strange notion of "respect".'

'How so?' asked Ragnok and Hermione recognised the menace in the tone.

'Well, it would seem that respect is a one way street as far as you are concerned. You evidently have no respect for us.'

'You can hardly blame me for that,' replied Ragnok. 'Humans have persecuted my people for centuries. Even now there is opposition to Miss Granger's proposed equality bill in the Wizengamot. How else do you expect me to react?'

'I expect you to live by the same standards you seem eager to impose on others,' replied Harry harshly. 'We are not here representing the Wizengamot, or the Ministry or anyone else for that matter. We are here representing ourselves with a simple request for your assistance. You are showing no respect to us by judging us on the actions of others.'

'And how else am I to judge you?'

'The same way that we judge you,' replied Harry. 'We take individuals as we find them; be they human, goblin or elf. You know Hermione; you know this to be true and yet you judge her on the actions of others. Is that showing respect?' he asked scornfully. Hermione closed her eyes, fearing that Ragnok would kick them out of the bank. _This is why I didn't want you to say anything, Harry._

Ragnok took a moment to reply. 'Miss Granger's attitude towards my people is well known and appreciated,' he said carefully. 'Her efforts to bring equality to non-humans are commendable but as yet we have seen no tangible progress.'

'Is that her fault?' asked Harry. 'She is doing everything she can on your behalf and you cannot even grant us this small favour? Tell me,' he added, leaning forwards over the desk, 'is it your wish for Hermione to be successful in passing the equality legislation through the Wizengamot?'

'Of course it is. We have sought equality with humans for centuries.'

Harry nodded, satisfied. '_Equality_,' he repeated. 'Have you really thought about what that means? It's a double edged sword, Ragnok; if you want true equality for your people; if you want to enjoy the same rights as humans then you must realise that part of this is accepting the same responsibilities as humans. This means accepting the law; this means no special preferences for institutions such as this one. You cannot pick and choose what aspects of society you wish to abide by; it's all or nothing. You talk of respect; well, let me tell you that I save my respect for those that earn it. If you cannot even bring yourself to assist us in investigating the murder of one of _your_ employees then you are not deserving of my respect.'

Hermione cringed inwardly at these words aware that she might have to mend some fences. 'What Mr Potter means…' she began.

'I am well aware of what Mr Potter means,' interrupted Ragnok. He sat back in his chair and regarded them for a long moment. The silence stretched out interminably. Finally the old goblin spoke again.

'There is perhaps something in what you say, Mr Potter, but not all humans behave as you and Miss Granger do.'

'Not all Goblins are as civilised as you either,' replied Harry. 'If I were to judge your people solely on some of the Goblins I have met then I am afraid that I would have a rather unfavourable opinion of the whole race. Let us accept that bad apples exist everywhere – regardless of species. As I said; I believe it is better to take individuals as you find them. If you want our respect you have to earn it. I would expect the same attitude from you in regard to us.'

'Miss Granger has certainly earned my respect, Mr Potter; I am not so sure about you.'

'Then grant Hermione her request. I do not need to see the accounts – only she does. Surely you can do this small favour for her?'

Once again Ragnok took his time before replying and Hermione was aware that he was carefully considering Harry's words. She had never thought to try such a candid approach but she could see that Harry had hit a nerve. Finally, the old goblin turned to face her.

'I agree to your request, Miss Granger. You may examine Miss Chang's accounts. I know enough about you to realise that you only ask out of necessity.' He turned to Harry. 'You say that respect has to be earned, Mr Potter? In that case, I shall endeavour to earn your esteem. You too shall be granted full access if you desire it. I am aware that in the past you have behaved correctly towards non-humans; particularly elves - even in death,' he added softly. He smiled suddenly; a calculating grin that transformed his face. 'I had already half-decided to allow you both access. I just wanted to see for myself what sort of a man you are. What I have heard about you is indeed true; you will find friends here at this bank.'

'Heard about me?' asked Harry, clearly confused.

'Yes, Mr Potter. One of my dearest friends was Albus Dumbledore who always spoke of you – and Miss Granger – in the most glowing terms. But, as you say, I too prefer to take people as I find them. I am gratified that you did not disappoint me, Mr Potter. Albus was correct in his assessment of you.'

'You mean this was some kind of test?' asked Harry dangerously.

'If you want to put it like that then yes; it was a kind of test. You see, Mr Potter, I too judge people as I find them and I wanted to see how you reacted to my refusal. Whilst Miss Granger is a dear and appreciated friend to my people, she sometimes fails to realise that there are a lot of Goblins who are, shall we say…of a less than respectable character? You are my kind of human, Mr Potter. Everything will be done to assist you in this matter.'

Harry and Hermione shared a look, both surprised by this sudden turn of events. Finally Harry turned back to the Goblin.

'Thank you.' _I think,_ he thought to himself.


	15. Close Encounters

**Close Encounters**

Harry and Hermione sat side by side next to a large wooden desk in an office on the top floor of Gringotts and awaited the arrival of the various ledgers and files that Ragnok had requested from an assistant at the end of their interview. They had been escorted to the room and told that they would be provided with anything they required. The aide had informed them that Ragnok had specifically ordered that full co-operation was expected from every Gringotts employee and that neither Harry nor Hermione were to hesitate in making requests for aid. It was something of a shock to receive such co-operation from the goblins on such a sensitive issue but neither was inclined to complain about this sudden stroke of good fortune.

To say that Harry was surprised by the turn of events was an understatement. He'd not realised that his direct approach to the head Goblin would pay such a fruitful dividend but he'd been frustrated by Ragnok's attitude and had felt the need to speak out at what he thought was deliberate intransigence. He smiled ruefully to himself; had he known he was being subjected to some kind of test then he might have acted differently. Perhaps it was just as well that he had been kept in the dark.

He was aware that Hermione had been quiet since leaving Ragnok's office and he'd an inkling as to the cause of this. He sighed, hoping that she wasn't put out too much by what had occurred.

'Hermione?' he asked quietly. 'What's wrong?'

He noticed her sigh before answering. 'Do you know how long I have been struggling to form a working relationship with Ragnok, Harry?'

'Yes; you have been dealing with him for a few years now. It's quite clear that he has a very high regard for you. Why?'

'Because you achieved more in two minutes with him that I have in two years, that's why! I am supposed to be the head of the DMC and it turns out that I have been taking the wrong approach all this time.' She smiled a twisted, bitter grimace. 'I thought Ragnok was going to chuck us both out onto the street. How did you know what to say?'

'I didn't. I just said what I think.' He noticed that she did not take too well to this explanation; that she still looked unhappy. He leaned across and took her left hand in both of his, enfolding it as it rested on her lap. 'Look, Hermione; you _couldn't_ speak to him like I just did, you don't have that luxury. You are the head of the Ministry department that deals with magical creatures. When _you_ speak to Ragnok you speak as the Ministry – you _are_ the Ministry in effect. If you cock things up; if you insult or offend the Goblins, then we could have a war on our hands. I don't have to consider any of that shit. I'm just a punter; a customer – I'm nobody. I can say what I want to them because I have no official Ministry capacity. Don't beat yourself up about this; it's obvious how much Ragnok likes you. Human-Goblin relations are better than they have been for years and that is solely down to you.' He smiled and waited for her to look him in the eye. 'If I was in your job, we would be facing a civil war right now. Don't put yourself down, Hermione; you have done too much good to let this upset you.'

He hoped that his words were having the desired effect and he was pleased to see that his explanation seemed to mollify her somewhat. They remained staring at each other for a moment before Hermione looked down to her lap where their joined hands lay. He glanced down too and suddenly became aware that he was gently stroking her palm with his thumb; that he had been tracing little circles and patterns on it throughout the conversation. He flushed at the realisation and made to pull his hands away but was surprised when Hermione – without looking up – grabbed his thumb tightly and refused to let go. He felt a sudden heat rush through him, but composed himself. Unsure of where this might lead them, he started to gently stroke her palm again with his thumb. She looked up and met his eyes, a shy expression on her face.

'Thank you,' she whispered and her face broke into a smile; a soft, gentle smile that took his breath away and seemed to radiate throughout the room.

_Thank you? For what? For my words or for my actions?_ He didn't know; didn't have a clue. All he did know was that Hermione was looking at him in a way that he had never noticed before; that her skin felt like silk under his thumb and that when he looked on her he realised with certainty that she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Not beautiful in the classic sense; no, that was not it. Hermione was certainly pretty but she was no pin-up; no glamour model. Artists and sculptors would never queue up to immortalise _her_ with their art. But this didn't matter. _What makes her so beautiful is the way she is looking at __**me**__; the way she is smiling at __**me**__ right now_. This particular smile was reserved especially for him - no one else - and the realisation of this truth made him feel ten times the man he actually was. When a woman – any woman – smiled at a man the way Hermione was smiling at him then true beauty became more than just a matter of mere aesthetics. He briefly considered the fiery beauty of Ginny; the classical beauty that Cho had possessed and finally came to understand why neither had been enough for him. Neither had looked at him the way Hermione was right now and neither had made him feel like he was the most important person alive.

All this passed through his mind in just a few seconds and he became aware that he was also smiling – he couldn't help it. When she looked at him like that he felt like he could do anything; that nothing was impossible. He cleared his throat, hoping that his voice would not betray just how much her smile had affected him.

'You're welcome,' he finally replied, softly. They sat gazing into each other's eyes for what seemed like an interminable length of time; static - almost as if they had been carved from marble. Harry began to feel the sweat on his palms; became aware of the thumping of his heart and was sure that Hermione could hear it too such was the pounding. He licked his lips, leaning slowly in towards her as he did so, seeking confirmation of what he thought that look and smile meant. She tilted her head expectantly as they drew closer together…

BANG!

'Here you go Mr Potter,' said a voice as the office door was swung open with such a force that it hit the wall. A small goblin entered with a trolley laden with ledgers and files. Harry and Hermione broke apart almost as if they were magnetically repelling each other such was the speed of their movement. Harry stood quickly, aware that his heart was still pounding and that he was struggling for breath. He wiped his palms on the sides of his trousers.

'Thank you,' he managed to croak. He shook his head, almost as if trying to awaken himself from a dream. 'I'll take them from here,' he added, pleased that his voice was returning to normal.

The goblin nodded and turned before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Harry closed his eyes for a second and tried to regain his composure before beginning to move the ledgers from the trolley to the large desk. He kept his back to Hermione as he did so. When he finally finished and turned to face her he was surprised to see that she was regarding him with what could only be described as a knowing smile. He decided to ignore this for the moment; now wasn't the time to deal with this.

'Ready to start?' he asked as casually as he could. The words sounded normal but all that was going through his head at that moment was one recurring thought.

_I nearly kissed her! I nearly kissed her! I can't do this right now; I have to tell her first!_

'I sure am,' replied Hermione and Harry found himself faintly annoyed to realise that she sounded perfectly composed. 'Are you going to stay here too?' she asked.

He took a moment to consider the question. He hadn't expected to be allowed access to the accounts and had already made other plans. But he didn't want it to look as if he was running away from what had just occurred either.

_Damn!_

'I was going to go and scout out Willie Widdershins,' he finally replied. 'Do you mind? I feel quite bad leaving you with all of this but I will need to get an idea of his routine if I am going to approach him unnoticed.'

Hermione regarded him for a moment and he got the distinct impression that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

'That's fine,' she replied. 'We need to spread ourselves for the moment. We need to check all of this stuff but we have to speak to Willie too. Don't worry about it; we have our mirrors if we need to contact each other. You go to the Hog's Head and I'll make a start on this. OK? Just promise me that you will be careful; don't go barging in and doing anything foolish.'

'OK,' he replied, a little unsure. 'I promise. I'm just going to observe for now, nothing more. Just get in touch if you need me for anything. Do you know what you are looking for?'

She shook her head. 'Not really; I thought I was just looking for anything that seems irregular.'

'It might not be obvious. Just keep an eye out for names you recognise – see if anyone has more cash than they ought to or look out for strange money transfers. It could be anything.'

Hermione nodded her understanding then sat and stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to act. He stood still, suddenly unwilling to depart. He noticed Hermione observe his indecision with amusement. 'Right then; I'll be off. See you later,' he added before finally turning to leave. His feet felt like lead as he headed towards the door and he cast one last glance back at Hermione as he swung it open. Giving her a final nod and smile, he finally forced himself to walk out of the room.

When the door closed behind him, he did not see Hermione slump into her chair; a smile on her face as she folded her arms across her shoulders; hugging herself as she considered what had just happened.

_Harry nearly kissed me!_

But more to the point, she realised; _I nearly kissed him too._

Harry's mind was racing as he approached the apartment block where he had once resided. He was still trying to process what had just happened in Gringotts and he had an internal dialogue going on, almost as if there were two Harry Potters in his head, each battling for dominance.

_You nearly kissed her! What are you playing at?_

_But you saw how she was looking at me! She wanted me to kiss her! How could I resist her when she was looking at me like that?_

_You can't do anything right now. Remember, you still have to tell her the truth._

_Why?_

_Because you can't start anything with her with a lie. You know that. This is Hermione we are talking about here. You can't lie to her. You could never lie to her._

_I've been lying to her for over five years._

_No, you haven't. You just…didn't make her aware of all the facts. You will have to now, though._

_But she'll flip if I tell her._

_She deserves to know. And how much worse will it be if she finds out later, hmm?_

_Much worse. Much, much worse. I can't lie to her. I have to tell her._

He shook his head, wondering dispassionately if he was quietly going round the twist. This was too much to deal with right now; he had enough on his plate without trying to finally lay this particular ghost to rest as well.

He glanced up as he finally reached the front door of the apartment block and noticed that his name had been removed from the list of nameplates on the wall. Where once it had said "Potter/Weasley," it now read only "Weasley." He felt a sudden rush of sadness overwhelm him as he realised just how many people he had hurt with his dishonesty. Whatever the reason; however noble the excuse, he had damaged more than just his own life when he had lied to Ron that fateful day.

_Ah, well; let's get this over with._

He made his way up the stairs until he finally arrived at the front door of the flat that he had once shared with Ginny. He knocked loudly a few times but it seemed that no one was home. He removed his wand from his pocket and was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was still keyed into the wards as the door swung gently open.

'Ginny?' he called, hesitating on the threshold. There was no answer and it was with some relief that he made his way into the flat. He noticed immediately there had been a few changes since he had last been here; the living room had a slightly more feminine air about it and it was quite obvious that this was now the home of a single woman. He shook his head as he made his way towards the master bedroom where he knew his stuff was once stored.

When he entered his eyes were instantly drawn to the large double bed that dominated the room – the bed that he and Ginny had once shared; the bed where they had made love.

_Made love? No; that wasn't right, was it? Had sex would be more accurate. Another person I lied to._

He turned away from the bed almost as if feeling accusations emanating from it. Sighing, he opened his wardrobe and was pleased to see that his stuff still remained within. He spotted a large holdall at the bottom and without hesitation he chucked it onto the bed and began cramming it full of clothes. After a few minutes, he came across his Firebolt and grabbed that too before he finally discovered his invisibility cloak – the reason that he had come here in the first place.

Finally finished with the packing, he took one last glance around the room and found his eyes drawn to the photographs that were placed on the bedside table. He reached across and lifted one, smiling despite the sadness he felt. It was a photo of him, Ron and Hermione, taken a few months after the defeat of Voldemort. He and Ron had just been accepted into the Auror training program and they had gone out to celebrate. He looked on the happy faces, so full of hope and joy and it occurred to him that these people were strangers now. He and Hermione had changed since the day this picture was taken. And Ron?

_Ron was no more. Only a memory._

'Hello? Is someone there?'

Harry started in surprise at the voice and nearly dropped the photograph. _Shit; Ginny. _He quickly replaced the picture on the table.

'In here!' he called. 'It's me; Harry!' He tried to compose himself as he heard her footsteps approach. He turned as she entered the room and her eyes took in the situation immediately as they registered the packed holdall on the bed.

'Oh,' she said.

'Hi, Ginny,' he began. 'I'm sorry to barge in like this, but I needed to pick up a few things.' He forced a smile. 'I've really only got the clothes I'm standing up in and if I don't get a change soon I'm going to have to start walking around in the buff.'

Despite the awkwardness, Ginny smiled in return. 'We can't have that, can we, Harry? Narcissa might not be able to contain herself if you go walking around Malfoy Manor in your birthday suit.' Her humour sounded forced, her tone betraying how she was feeling.

'I'm not staying at the Manor anymore,' he replied. _Oh, fuck! Why did I say that?_

'You're not? Why? Where are you staying now?'

He took a few seconds before replying. 'I'm moving in with Hermione for the moment.'

Ginny's eyes widened and the smile she had on her face became fixed. 'Hermione?' Her eyes narrowed. 'Is there something I should know about, Harry?'

'It's not what you think,' he replied hastily. 'I don't have anywhere else to go at the minute. I wasn't comfortable at the Manor and I didn't think I could stay here given…what's just happened. Hermione suggested I move in with her for now as she has a spare room. There's nothing going on.'

The little voice in his head decided that this was a good moment to chime in_. Yet. There's nothing going on yet. Another lie, Harry? _

_Shut up._

Ginny did not look convinced by the explanation. 'Hermione said nothing about this to me,' she said and her tone suggested that things _would_ be said.

He shrugged. 'We just arranged it earlier today. It makes sense when you think about it. We are working on this case together and it will mean we can devote more time to it. Once it's all over, I suppose I will find somewhere else.'

'You _suppose_?' Her eyes narrowed even further. 'Is there something you're not telling me, Harry? Is there something going on between the two of you? Is this why you dumped me?'

Harry closed his eyes, hating the bitterness in her tone. 'Look, Ginny. I'm sorry if this upsets you but please believe me when I tell you that there has been nothing going on between Hermione and me. We both value your friendship too much to have ever done anything behind your back. Or Ron's,' he added. He looked her straight in the eye. 'I was never unfaithful to you and Hermione was never unfaithful to Ron. I don't want to risk your friendship over this and I'm sure Hermione feels the same. I didn't think it would upset you this much but I guess I'm not the best person to judge when it comes to things like this.'

He knew that he was on very thin ice here; that he was being more than just a little economical with the truth, but he hadn't lied to her. He knew he loved Hermione but there was no way on God's green earth that he was going to admit this to Ginny before he'd had the chance to tell Hermione.

He was relieved to see that his words seemed to have the desired effect for Ginny seemed to deflate before his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Harry. Sorry for thinking that you would cheat on me. And Ron. I'm sorry for thinking that about Hermione too.' She shook her head. 'What you and Hermione do is none of my business; at least, it is only my business if you choose to make it so as my friends.' She smiled, trying to force levity into the conversation. 'I suppose you are both single adults; you can do what you want. I'm just still trying to deal with things. Can you forgive me?'

'Of course I can,' he replied, feeling awful as he drew her into a tight embrace. They remained like that for a few moments until Harry finally released her. After standing facing each other, Harry finally turned and lifted the bag from the bed.

'I'm sorry, Ginny, but I really need to go.' He saw her nod at his words before looking away. Sighing, he turned and headed out of the room and made his way to the front door, reaching for the handle and opening the door.

'Harry?

He turned to face her, a questioning look on his face.

'I just want you to be happy, Harry. I want you to know that I will still remain your friend whatever you decide you need to achieve this.' She sounded as if it had taken her a great effort to say these words.

Harry felt like she was reading his very soul at that moment and felt ashamed. But he also felt gratitude; gratitude for the magnanimity that Ginny was displaying.

_She knows_, he thought to himself. _She knows exactly what I need to be happy._

'Thanks, Ginny,' he replied softly, before turning and walking out of the flat.

_Forever._

Hermione tried her best to concentrate on the ledgers that she had spread across the desk but found herself unable to focus. The columns and rows of numbers seemed to swim in front of her eyes as her mind churned over the events of the afternoon.

_Harry nearly kissed me!_

There was no doubt in her mind that had the messenger from Ragnok not interrupted when he did then she and Harry would have kissed. When he had explained to her why he was able to speak to Ragnok in the manner he had it had taken all of her willpower to concentrate on what he was saying as she did her best not to shiver at his touch. There was nothing overtly sexual in what he had been doing; rather, the soft, gentle patterns he'd been making on her palm as he held her hand seemed to offer reassurance and love but she'd nonetheless felt a thrill of pleasure at this simplest of touches. Her skin had tingled and she'd felt a stirring from deep within as he had gently stroked her palm. It was incredible that his slightest touch could affect her to such an extent.

So when he'd made to let go of her hand something had compelled her to grip him tight to make sure he did not stop. She still didn't know why she'd done that but she was glad she did. When they had gazed at one another – had leaned in towards one another – she had not been aware of anything but Harry. His look; his scent – his sheer presence had blocked out every sense and every thought. A tiny part of her mind had told her that this was a bad idea but for once she'd decided to ignore her reason and allow her instinct to take over. They had been so close to going past the point of no return…

It opened a can of worms however. She'd felt herself more drawn to him with each passing day and could sense that he was going through the same process. Looking at it rationally, she reasoned that it was because they were both lonely; that they had both been deprived of physical pleasure for so long that it might be a case of "any port in a storm." But she also knew that neither of them would be likely to risk their deep and lasting friendship over something as shallow as momentary sexual gratification. At least; she knew this to be true of herself and she was certain that Harry would think the same. She knew him better than he knew himself and reckoned that she was correct in her assertion. She also knew that it had taken every ounce of her willpower to speak to him in what she hoped had passed for a normal voice. He had really affected her and she'd not wanted him to know just how much.

_So what was going on then? Was he looking for something more? Did he feel something more?_

_Do I?_

They had both changed, of that there was no doubt. They were no longer the teenagers forced to grow up before their time. No longer the callow youths; inexperienced in love and sex. It had only been five years since the defeat of Voldemort but those years had wrought changes both physical and emotional that could not now be reversed. The simple fact was that she was attracted to Harry and she suspected that it was more than merely a physical attraction. That Harry was now moving in with her was only going to complicate the situation, she knew. How long would they be able to keep up the pretence when they were living in each others pockets?

She leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh as she considered the real issue at stake.

_Do I love him?_

On face value, the fact that she even had to ask herself that question did not inspire the confidence that she did. But then, nothing was ever simple when it came to Harry. Her mind was repeatedly telling her of the pitfalls that lay ahead.

_We're friends; can we risk that? And what about Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys? How will they react? _

_What would Ron say?_

This last question troubled her more than any other and she suspected that this was what Harry had been alluding to back in the Weasley orchard. Ron was gone, but his memory was almost like a physical presence in the room. _What would he say?_

But if she disregarded these considerations; if she ignored the practical issues and considered the question of love in isolation, she came up with a simple answer.

_Of course I love him. I can't imagine life without him. He's not just the most important thing; he is everything. When he left it was like having a part of me cut out. When he's not with me I need to see him; when he is with me, I want to touch him. I'd follow him wherever he asked me to go; give up anything just to be with him._

_If that's not love then I don't know what is._

What really troubled her more than anything though was the realisation that she had never felt quite this way about Ron. She'd loved Ron – or at least, she'd thought she'd loved Ron - but she'd never felt the same sense of need for Ron that she now felt for Harry. She felt like she was betraying Ron; that despite being true to him physically, her heart had betrayed him by desiring another. The fact that it was Harry who was the one to be the catalyst for this made it worse. Ron had always felt second best to Harry and the idea that she loved their mutual friend would have destroyed him.

_But Ron __**was**__ second best_, said the traitorous little voice in her head. _Harry never insulted me to alleviate his own feelings of inadequacy. Harry has never tried to belittle me; never remained angry with me for long. He always supported everything I decided to do; he has always been willing to listen to what I have to say. He values my advice; he has always – right from the start – appreciated me for being me. He's never tried to change me; always accepted and loved me for who and what I am. _

_He loves me unconditionally._

And that was what love was supposed to be, wasn't it? She couldn't say the same about Ron; couldn't pretend to herself that Ron had been anything like the man Harry was. This, she knew, was the ultimate betrayal of Ron's memory; comparing the two men and realising that Ron came up so short in relation to Harry. It was the ultimate betrayal because it confirmed everything that Ron had feared all those years.

_I made a mistake five years ago. I settled; for the first time in my life I accepted second best because I was too afraid to go for what I wanted. I never believed that I deserved any better._

_That I deserved Harry._

Tears started to flow down her cheeks as she finally came to accept this truth. Tears for what had passed; tears for what might have been.

And not least, tears for Ron's memory; for having lived a lie with him for five years and for not loving him the way he had evidently loved her.

_Even in death, he was still in Harry's shadow._

_Oh, Ron. I'm so sorry._


	16. Home Sweet Home

**Home Sweet Home**

Harry opened the door to the cupboard above the sink and frowned in frustration as his eyes flitted across what lay within.

_Where the hell does she keep everything?_

He tried opening a few more doors until he found what he was looking for. He removed the black pepper pot from the shelf and moved to the stove where he added a generous amount of the spice to the pan that simmered away on the hob. He was quite content for the moment; he'd been willing to try just about anything in order to take his mind off of the sheer emptiness of Hermione's flat.

For some reason, he'd expected her to be home when he finally returned from the Hog's Head. That she would still be working hard at Gringotts should have come as no surprise to him; after all, he had seen how tenacious she could be once she had gotten her teeth into a problem. But he had been surprised to come back to an empty flat; surprised and discomfited. It had been quarter to eight when he'd finally got home and he'd fully expected Hermione to have returned too. It had not occurred to him that he might be left alone with some very uncomfortable thoughts.

He'd been sitting on the sofa in trying to accustom himself to the fact that he was now living here – that this was his home, however temporary. He'd felt slightly awkward as he'd taken in the surroundings for the little personal details of the place had constantly served to remind him that he was something of an interloper in this house. To a casual observer, the room appeared welcoming. The furnishings were soft and comfortable and there were - of course - a huge number of books neatly ordered on the various bookcases that were seemingly placed randonly around the flat. But what had made him feel uncomfortable was the little tell-tale signs that Ron had once lived here. The photographs; the small collection of Quidditch books and – not least - the armchair by the fire all served as reminders of his friend and had given him the distinct feeling that he was some kind of usurper in another man's domain.

His gaze had fallen repeatedly on the armchair; the chair that did not match the rest of the furniture in the room. Ron had spotted it in an old Muggle second hand shop and had almost immediately fallen in love with its old world comfort and look. It was high backed and made of battered red leather and still seemed to maintain a certain…_Ronness_ about it. He hadn't been able to bring himself to sit in it once he had cast his mind back to all those times that Ron had sat there. The seat where Ron had laughed and joked; had chatted and argued; not to mention the occasions when his friend had read the newspaper or merely dozed within its warm comfort in front of a roaring fire. To sit in that seat would have been like making a declaration; would be confirming that he had finally supplanted Ron – had stolen his life

So in order to alleviate this awkwardness, he'd decided to make dinner in the hope that Hermione would return by the time he was finished. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he had no idea where Hermione kept everything in her kitchen. There seemed to be no rationale behind her placement of implements and ingredients and more than once he found himself cursing as he rummaged in drawers and peered into cupboards. It did occur to him in his more candid moments that perhaps it was him that was at fault; that Hermione did have a perfectly sensible system and that it was he who was the disorganised one.

_I won't ever admit that to her though._

He glanced up as Crookshanks suddenly shook himself out of his slumber in front of the oven and padded softly out of the kitchen towards the front door. He stuck his head round the door and followed the cat's progress in bemusement before looking up as he heard the door open. He watched Hermione enter and hang up her coat on the peg before kicking her shoes off and stooping down to accept the welcome of her faithful pet.

He noticed Hermione look up and become aware of his scrutiny. She flashed him a smile and while it was not in the same category as the smile she had bestowed on him in Gringotts, it was nonetheless a smile that contained more than just a hint of promise.

'Something smells good,' she said, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

He smiled. 'You mean apart from me?' He turned and gestured towards the kitchen. 'I thought I would make myself useful and cook us some dinner. You didn't have much in so I just cobbled something together. It'll be ready in about five minutes.'

She looked surprised. 'You've made dinner? I didn't know you cooked.' She hesitated for a moment. 'Ginny never told me you could cook.'

'I never said I could cook. I just said that I had made us some dinner,' he replied with a smile. 'Besides; a man is entitled to some secrets. There are a few things you don't know about me.'

She stared at him for a few seconds and Harry suddenly wished he hadn't said that for it sounded too much like a challenge. He watched as she gave a small smile and started heading towards her room.

'I'm just going to get changed,' she began and there was a hint of mischief in her tone. 'And don't kid yourself, Harry,' she added as she passed, 'I know more about you than you could possible imagine.' She flashed him a smile over her shoulder.

Harry felt his face redden as he watched her disappear into her room.

_She's got my number, damn it! She knows just about everything about me!_

He felt a touch annoyed about this for a moment before he finally broke into a smile.

_She's right; I always had difficulty keeping anything from her._

Shaking his head ruefully, he made his way back into the kitchen wondering if there was any way that he could maintain some air of personal mystery with Hermione Granger.

_Not in this life._

Just over five minutes later Hermione sat down at the dining table and allowed herself to be waited on by Harry. She had to admit to being pleasantly surprised by the evident effort he had put into preparing dinner and she watched as he carefully poured two glasses of wine before sitting down himself. She eyed the dish in front of her and had to admit to herself that it looked and smelled good.

'What is it?' she asked.

'It's nothing special; pork cooked in olive oil, garlic and rosemary with some creamy pasta. It's really easy to do but to really flavour it you need to add some black pepper.'

'It looks great; where did you get the recipe for this?'

'You won't believe me if I tell you.'

'Well, you have to tell me now; you can't say something like that and expect me to let it go,' she replied.

He smiled, his amusement obvious. 'I read about it in a book; a history book as it happens.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'A _history _book? Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?' she teased.

Harry had the good grace to look sheepish. 'I came across it a few years ago when you were on one of your book buying sprees. Remember that time when the four of us visited Covent Garden market? You spent _ages_ at that second hand bookstall and Ron and Ginny got bored and buggered off to the pub, remember? Anyway, while I was waiting for you I picked up this old book on the Romans and it mentioned this recipe. Apparently it's one of the oldest recipes ever recorded. I like cooking, so I made a note of it. It's simple and easy. Just like me.'

She smiled at his jest and cast her mind back to the day in question. She _had_ taken an age to browse through the stall and only now did it occur to her that Harry had patiently remained with her while she indulged herself. He wasn't a fan of bookstores and yet he hadn't joined Ron and Ginny in the pub. _Why? Probably for the same reason I used to watch him play Quidditch._

'I wouldn't say you were that easy, Harry,' she finally replied, smiling.

'So you agree that I am simple then?' he retorted.

She laughed at his self effacement. 'So, you enjoy cooking then?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. Just as well too; I had plenty of practice at the Dursley's.' He picked up his wine glass. 'Cheers!'

She responded in kind, clinking glasses before taking a sip. Then she turned her attention to her plate, attacking it with gusto. It really was very good and she found that she was ravenous. It occurred to her how pleasant it was to be just sitting enjoying a meal with her friend and she realised that she could not remember the last time she had shared a table with anyone other than the Weasleys. She also found herself able to relax; she'd been worried that their little…_moment_ in Gringotts would make things awkward between them but she was glad to see that Harry was acting as if nothing had happened. It was there nonetheless; what had transpired was unacknowledged but it was still _there_, like a presence in the room. She decided to follow Harry's lead and pretend that everything was normal.

_For the moment anyway._

'So, how did you get on?' asked Harry. 'Find anything?'

She shook her head. 'Nothing yet. There's loads to go through; it could take some time to cover everything.'

'Well, I'll be able to give you a bit of a hand tomorrow. We won't be able to get near Willie until the evening,' replied Harry.

She looked at him, intrigued. 'How did that go today? What did you see?'

Harry took a moment to consider the question before replying. When he finally replied he spoke for a few minutes as he related the events of his afternoon.

_He told her how he had stood in an isolated corner of the Hog's Head and watched the going's on with interest. How he'd slipped in under his cloak when another patron had opened the door and had then made his way over to the corner in order to avoid any collisions. He'd stood like a statue for over half an hour with nothing to alleviate the boredom except the comings and goings in the bar._

_The Hog's Head had hardly changed in the five years since he had last set foot in the place. It had been filthy, the layers of dirt evident on the floors and the windows blackened to such an extent that it had been impossible to see through them. He'd been going demented with frustration when his attention had been distracted by the arrival of Willie Widdershins – with his entourage._

_Dung had been correct; the "escort" with Willie had proclaimed his status to all. Three of the dodgiest looking wizards he'd ever clapped eyes on surrounded Willie as he sat and had personally vetted anyone who attempted to approach their principal. More than one person had been unceremoniously told to clear off and it had struck him just how subservient people were to these men. He'd also noticed that Willie did not look too comfortable; rather he looked like a man who would rather be anywhere but in the situation he currently found himself in. _

_Not a lot happened as he watched; Willie had a few drinks, he'd eaten a hasty meal and spoken with one or two favoured wizards who had received the approval from his henchmen. Willie had never been left alone; he'd always been escorted and it had been with a feeling of desperation that he'd realised the difficulty involved in arranging to get the little crook on his own. He could not be seen talking to him for if he was then the Deatheaters would be sure to hear of the encounter and would soon be on the move again._

'So what are you going to do then?' asked Hermione once Harry had finished recounting his tale. 'How are you going to speak to him alone?'

Harry smiled at the question. 'I was beginning to wonder myself but then the solution presented itself.'

'It did?'

'Yeah; Willie had to go to the bathroom. One of his goons escorted him there and checked that it was empty but then left him to his own devices. I suppose Willie is a grown man; he doesn't need it held for him when going for a pee.'

Hermione smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. 'So you're going to hang around the Gents loo waiting for him to show up?' She laughed. 'You'd better watch your step, Harry; people might get the wrong idea if you are discovered.'

He laughed at her jest and found himself feeling more relaxed than at any other time he could remember. It was…pleasant to be sitting here with Hermione enjoying a meal as if they were two ordinary people with ordinary lives. It occurred to him that he hadn't enjoyed an intimate dinner with anyone since he'd been living with Ginny. This memory started him somewhat.

'Oh! I should tell you that I saw Ginny today.'

Hermione looked up from her plate. 'You did?' she asked after swallowing some pasta.

He nodded. 'I went to the flat to pick up my gear and she walked in on me. I told her I was moving in with you,' he added flatly.

'Oh. How did she take it?' asked Hermione and Harry could detect a hint of relief in her voice.

'About as well as can be expected. It surprised her, I think. She wasn't too happy at first but I think she accepts that it makes sense.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Really?'

Harry looked sheepish. 'Yeah, well…we had words of course but I think she came round to my point of view.'

Hermione looked sceptical. If she was honest with herself she had to admit that she was relieved that it had been Harry who had informed Ginny of their new arrangement. She had not been looking forward to telling her friend that Harry was moving in with her. While she loved Ginny dearly she was aware that the redhead did have a bit of a temper on her and could be very defensive when it came to Harry. She cast her mind back to her sixth year when she and Ginny had argued for the first time. Ostensibly, the argument had been about her voicing her opinion on Harry playing Quidditch, but she knew that hadn't been the real issue. Ginny had been marking her territory; had viewed her as a potential rival in the chase for Harry's affections and had brusquely dealt with any threat.

_But that was over six years ago. She's a grown woman now; not some lovesick teenager._

'What…words did you have?' she finally asked, suspecting what the answer would be.

Harry eyed her flatly for a moment and his face seemed to say; _none of your bloody business._ But then he relented and leaned back in his chair. 'She asked me if there was anything going on between the two of us.' He looked her directly in the eye as he said this and she felt herself flushing.

'She would,' Hermione replied, without rancour. 'What did you tell her?'

'I told her the truth; that we'd never had an affair. That we'd never betrayed her or Ron.' He sounded uncomfortable as he said this.

_Very clever, Harry. You never actually answered her question, did you?_

Anyway,' he added, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. 'What do you fancy doing this evening?'

Hermione smiled, grateful for his not too subtle attempt to steer the conversation onto safer ground. 'I don't know about you, but I'm going in for a bath. You can do what you want.' She slid her chair back and stood, putting her arms above her head as she arched her back in a long, cat-like stretch, trying to loosen muscles that had stiffened from sitting behind a desk all afternoon. Harry tried not to be too obvious as he eyed her figure; taking in the curve of her hips; the shape of her firm breasts as they were thrust out and upwards. For a brief moment an image of a lithe and graceful Hermione performing a similar stretch before climbing into the bath flashed before his eyes and he felt a sudden rush of heat through his body. He glanced quickly away before Hermione turned her attention back to him.

'Thanks for dinner,' she said. 'If I can expect this every night then you can stay as long as you want,' she added with a smile. She topped up her wine glass and picked it up before heading towards the bathroom. On the way she lifted a book from one of the shelves.

'I'll try not to be too long; just make yourself comfortable,' she added.

Harry didn't reply; instead he began to clear the table and tried his best not to let the image of a naked Hermione block everything else out of his mind.

For once, his best just wasn't nearly good enough.

Harry felt like he was at a loose end and was despairing of what to do with himself when he heard a soft tapping at the window. Glancing up, he spotted a rather splendid looking eagle owl sitting on the window ledge with a piece of parchment tied to its leg. Intrigued, he made his way to the window and opened it before he quickly removed the message. The owl seemed impatient to be off for as soon as he had removed the missive, it immediately soared into the air and disappeared into the late evening sunset.

He saw that the letter was addressed to him and wasted no time in unrolling the scroll and beginning to read. He was surprised; he'd initially thought that the eagle owl belonged to the Malfoys but it turned out that the correspondence was from Cho's father. It was the guest list that he'd promised – something that Harry had completely forgotten about.

He scanned it quickly noticing that Chang had been correct in his estimate when he'd given the number of guests at around thirty. He counted thirty three and he was gratified to see that each name had been prefixed with either a letter (M) or a (W) which Harry took to mean Muggle or Wizard. He also noticed that the majority of guests had been Muggles. He quickly checked those names marked with a (W) and realised that he knew – or at least had met - almost every one of them. Of the Magical guests that he had not met, he still recognised a few of the grander names in Wizarding society.

Five names leapt from the page, however. _Cornelius Fudge; Cuthbert Mockridge; Judge Matthias Swing; Gawain Robards and John Dawlish. _

Alarm bells flashed in his head as he contemplated the presence of this motley crew at Chang's party. Fudge and Mockridge he could just about understand – if Chang's support for the equal rights bill was sought then it made sense for them to be lobbying him. _But Robards? Swing? Dawlish?_

_Dawlish? What the fuck was John Dawlish doing at a gathering like that?_

He scanned the room quickly until his eyes rested on what he was looking for. Approaching one of the bookshelves, he grabbed some parchment, quill and ink before sitting back down at the dining table. Then he began to take some notes.

First he wrote down the name Cho Chang and circled it. Next to it he wrote Draco Malfoy and circled that too. He paused for a moment to consider things before drawing a third circle and writing Ron's name in it. This circle he linked to Cho's with a line.

Around these three names he wrote down the name of everyone he thought might have a connection – however tenuous - to the case. John Dawlish; Gawain Robards; Judge Swing; Cornelius Fudge; Lucius Malfoy; Cuthbert Mockridge; Cho's father, Willie Widdershins and the four escaped Deatheaters all got their own little circle on the page. Once he had done this he sat back in his chair and considered what he had written. After a few seconds he jotted down Rita Skeeter and drew a dotted line between her name and that of Dawlish and Robards. He knew that there was a leak in the Auror office and while it might not be connected to the case, it might be a path worth pursuing. As an afterthought, he wrote down the name Blaise Zabini and circled that too.

_There must be a connection somewhere. At least one of these names is linked to Cho, Ron and probably Draco too. If I can get that link then I will know who is behind all this._

He sighed. It was like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle but without having any of the edges or corner pieces to get him started. _Or the bloody picture on the box to show me what I'm looking for_, he thought in grim amusement.

He tried a different approach; _motive_. At the bottom of the page he began to list all the possible reasons for what had occurred. He smiled as he wrote "financial" remembering Dung's reasoning that all one had to do was follow the money. He knew from Lucius that the Deatheaters were well financed so where was the money coming from? It was possible that the answer to this little teaser would be found in the ledgers at Gringotts and he knew that this route had to be followed vigorously.

Under "financial" he wrote the word "revenge". He tapped his quill thoughtfully on the parchment as he considered this. _Who would be seeking revenge on whom?_ He knew that just about everyone hated the Malfoy name for one reason or another. Supporters of the dark viewed them as traitors and many of those who had fought Voldemort thought that they had deserved some form of punishment for past sins. He shook his head, knowing that this was an almost impossible line of enquiry. To put it simply; too many people had it in for the Malfoys.

So that left political motives, he reasoned. With so many leading members of Wizarding society entangled in this case it was not beyond the realm of possibility that there were political reasons for what had occurred. He frowned; he didn't like "political"; events tended to get very complicated when it involved politics. _And the only major political issue at the moment is over equality for non-humans, isn't it?_ For the life of him, he couldn't see where this could possibly fit in.

_I'm missing something. The answer is there somewhere. There is something I've overlooked; an angle I've not considered, maybe?_

'I'll say one thing for you, Harry; when you concentrate on something you _really_ concentrate.'

Harry started in surprise and looked over to the door where Hermione stood in a pair of short pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He was immediately struck at just how good she looked in such simple attire.

'I've been standing here for nearly five minutes,' continued Hermione, 'and you had no idea that I was here. What are you working on?' she asked with a smile.

'This,' he replied as he held out the parchment towards her. She crossed the room and took it and the guest list from him before retiring to the sofa. He watched as she began to read his notes, her eyes lost in thought. He noticed that she bit her lip as she considered his ideas; that she twirled her hair with her index finger and he was transfixed by her image.

'Interesting,' said Hermione, finally. Harry waited for her to elaborate but an explanation was not immediately forthcoming.

'What is?' he finally asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

She looked up and seemed to consider him as if she had forgotten he was there. 'It just seems a strange coincidence that a lot of the people we have had to speak to were at the party that night. I can understand why Fudge and Mockridge were there – although they never mentioned it to me.'

'Should they have?'

She shrugged. 'I suppose not. We have all had to attend a lot of functions so we can lobby some of the people we need to talk round. I've been to a few myself but I tend to avoid the grander ones.'

'Why?'

She flushed. 'Because I'm a Muggleborn,' she replied simply. 'A lot of the people we are trying to convince still have…_views _on that sort of thing.'

'Bastards,' whispered Harry. Even after everything she had done to defeat Voldemort, people still looked down on her because of her birth. He couldn't begin to understand what she had to go through and though she often made light of it, he knew that it was something that hurt her. He felt a surge of anger at these bigoted people.

Hermione seemed to sense his change of mood. 'Don't worry about it, Harry – I'm sort of used to it. Anyway; I don't particularly like these gatherings so it's no loss. Fudge and Mockridge attend a lot of them on my behalf. What I don't understand is why Robards, Swing and Dawlish were there. You remember that Chang got irritated when you asked him about Robards?'

'Yeah, I remember. I wonder if they had a little disagreement.' He shrugged. 'As to why they were there? Well; it was a grand party and they are all influential people – apart from Dawlish that is. His name sticks out like a sore thumb.'

She nodded her agreement. 'I don't think this tells us very much, Harry. If you want, I can try and find out what was discussed that night. I could speak to Fudge and Mockridge.'

Harry shook his head. 'No; you keep looking at the ledgers; I think I should have a word with one or two people. I want to speak to Kingsley tomorrow too so I will be at the Ministry. I might pay some of these guys a little visit while I am there.'

'What do you need to see Kingsley for?' she asked.

'I want to update him on our progress – or lack of it,' he added with a rueful smile. 'I also want to tip him off about Willie Widdershins. If Willie does know where the Deatheaters are then we will have to bring in the Ministry. It's too much of a risk to try to take them on ourselves, but I can't trust everyone in my old office. I can trust Kingsley though; he'll know what to do.'

Hermione nodded, accepting the logic of his intentions. She noticed that he seemed restless; that something was bothering him.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

He sighed in frustration. 'I just get the feeling that I'm missing something; that the answer is there somewhere but for the life of me I can't see it. Everyone seems to have perfectly reasonable explanations for everything in this case but I know someone is lying. Someone has to be,' he added quietly, 'because if they're not then we are barking up the wrong tree. I just wish I could work out a motive.'

'Well, you have written down a few possibilities here. Money revenge and power. That pretty much covers everything, doesn't it?'

'Power?' asked Harry. 'I never wrote power.'

'You wrote "politics", Harry. It's the same thing.'

She could see him consider this point of view. 'I suppose so. Arthur said something along those lines to me yesterday.'

'He did?'

'Yeah; he said that his antenna was twitching. That someone was up to something and that Kingsley should watch his back. I don't see where it fits into this case though. Where is the political motive for murdering Cho Chang? Of what possible use could her murder serve to someone angling for power?' He was almost shouting as he said this and he realised that he had raised his voice. He smiled sheepishly at her. 'Sorry.'

Hermione smiled in return but could understand his frustration; indeed, she felt it herself. She enjoyed puzzles; enjoyed setting her mind to problem solving. But this was far more serious than intellectual stimulation. This was murder and conspiracy.

'Perhaps it might be best just to sleep on it? Sometimes I find a solution can present itself after _not_ thinking about something for a while. You maybe just need to take a new angle on the information.'

Harry rubbed his face with both hands, knowing that she was right. He was dog tired and a good night's rest was probably the sensible thing to do. It was now after nine and while that could not be considered as late he knew that they would have an early start in the morning. There wasn't much else they could achieve tonight anyway.

'Probably not a bad idea; this is getting us nowhere.' He stood from his place at the dining table and approached the sofa and Hermione noticed his eyes soften. 'Thanks for asking me to stay; it feels…nicer to be with you than with the Malfoys. I really appreciate it.'

Hermione stood too, surprised by his words. Harry was not usually one for voicing his feelings. 'You're more than welcome. I'm just glad you agreed to come.' They stood for a few moments facing each other, both unsure as what to say or do next. Finally Harry broke the awkward silence.

'Well, goodnight then,' he said, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. 'See you in the morning,' he added as he made his way to his room. Hermione watched him go; watched in silence until he had quietly closed his bedroom door behind him.

'Goodnight, Harry,' she whispered once he had gone.

She couldn't quite put her finger on why it was the case, but she was aware of a strange sense of loss now that he had disappeared behind his bedroom door.


	17. Conversations

**Conversations**

Harry felt like he was getting nowhere as he closed yet another ledger and placed it on the ever growing pile of those books that either he or Hermione had studied. This was an aspect of investigations that he had never enjoyed; the sheer, mind numbing tedium of paperwork. So far, they had barely made a dent in the vast pile and he was beginning to wonder if the answer to the whole case did indeed lie within one of these leather bound books.

_But then, Cho had found something that she thought significant enough to speak to Ron about, didn't she?_ There had to be something here – what else could "transfers" mean?

He glanced at his watch and realised with astonishment that they had been here for nearly two hours. They had risen early – just after six – and after a hasty breakfast they had made their way straight to Gringotts in order to maximise the time at their disposal. Breakfast had been a quiet affair with neither of them saying very much. He'd been tired as a result of not getting much sleep. Despite needing the rest, his brain had refused to shut down, instead mulling over the case for much of the night.

Of course, that had not been the only thing on his mind. Whenever he tried to clear his thoughts they kept returning to his brown eyed friend in the next room. He could not recall feeling so frustrated – or so confused – in his whole life. He was as certain as a man could be that his longing for Hermione would be reciprocated and it occurred to him that her own quiet demeanour at the breakfast table might also be as a result of a restless night. There was no doubt in his mind that there was a certain..._something_ between them and he dared to believe that it might be that she felt the same way he did.

He cast a glance in her direction, noting how she was focussed entirely on the ledger in her hands. He knew that they had come within moments of kissing yesterday and he was sure that his advances had not been unwelcome. She'd looked at him with such tenderness and love that he'd felt compelled to act and had it not been for the sudden arrival of that goblin then they would have crossed their own personal Rubicon.

_That's what I want, isn't it?_

He was aware of the many arguments for them not to take that particular step. She had been engaged to Ron; he to Ginny. They were best friends and that friendship could be put at risk by romantic declarations. Many people would suspect that they had always felt like this – suspect that everything else had been a lie. Maybe it was just a case of loneliness overruling all other factors?

But he knew in his heart that none of this mattered. He _loved_ Hermione; loved her from the very depths of his soul; loved her more than life itself and he clung on to the hope that this love might be returned. He also knew that the issue had to be resolved one way or the other; he could no longer live his life in limbo and he needed to know if they had a chance together. He knew that if he was wrong then his life would not be worth living, but he simply _had_ to know.

_Soon. I will tell her soon._

'Are you OK, Harry? You seemed to have phased out for a moment there?'

He started, surprised by the sudden interruption to his thoughts. He took his time before answering; making sure that he was composed so that his voice did not betray him. He smiled.

'I'm fine; it's just that all these numbers are turning my brain to mush.'

Hermione had a mischievous look in her eye for a moment. 'I suppose that's understandable; it doesn't take too much to achieve that, does it?'

'Ha ha,' he replied sarcastically. 'Just because my mind works differently to yours doesn't mean it's no good.'

'I should think your mind works differently to everyone, Harry – it's practically unique.' She could tell that this type of work was not his thing and decided to give him a break. 'You said you wanted to speak to Kingsley; go and have a word with him and I'll keep plugging away at this. Why don't you leave this to me for now?'

_Why? Because I want to be near you, that's why. Because whenever I'm not with you I don't feel whole._

'OK,' he replied after a pause. 'I shouldn't be too long. I might pay a visit to a few other people too – see if I can't rattle a few cages.'

She smiled at his reply and watched as he stood and grabbed his coat. 'If you need me for anything, just use the mirror, OK?'

'Sure,' he replied as he headed for the door. 'I'll see you later.'

As he made his way out, he reflected on her parting words, smiling grimly to himself as he did so.

_I need you for everything, Hermione. A bloody mirror is of no bloody use for that._

Ten minutes later, Harry rapped smartly on the door of Kingsley's outer office and entered. He smiled as Susan glanced up from her work and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

'Is the boss in?' he asked. 'Has he got a few minutes?'

Susan smiled. 'He sure is. And he's free at the moment although I know he would always make time for you, Harry. Just go right in.'

Harry nodded his gratitude and rapped softly on the inner door.

'Kingsley?' he tentatively asked as he slowly swung the door open.

'Harry! Come in! Come in; get yourself a seat. Good to see you.' He held out his hand and was pleased to see that Harry took it without a moment's hesitation and shook it vigorously. 'Fancy a coffee?' he asked the younger man, indicating to a small pot on a side table.

Harry smiled. 'I'd love one, thanks. I've been pouring over paperwork this morning and my head is swimming. I think some caffeine ought to do the trick,' he replied as he made his way over to the pot and poured himself a cup of the thick brew. He loved Kingsley's coffee; it was always strong and always spiced with a pinch of salt – something he'd never thought to try himself, but something that gave the brew a certain _quality_. He took a quick sip and savoured the taste for a few moments.

Kingsley watched the younger man with interest as Harry poured himself a cup of coffee. His many years as an Auror had honed his observational skills and he now put them to good use. He noted that while Harry still retained the same sense of restlessness that had been evident upon his return, there was now a subtle difference in his demeanour. The hardness that had been visible a few short days ago was now gone and his young friend seemed more at ease with himself – the sparkle in his eyes had finally returned. It was obvious that Harry had something on his mind and while Kingsley knew that the Malfoy case would be occupying much of Harry's time he suspected that something else was niggling away at his friend. Kingsley smiled to himself.

_Hermione Granger._

He'd known all along that Hermione had been Harry's best chance of recovering from the emotional scars that had plagued him and it was gratifying to know that he'd been correct in his assumption. His own sources had informed him of the new living arrangements between the two friends and it was with some amusement that Kingsley speculated on what was on Harry's mind right now. It would seem that the two of them might be finally trying to correct what – in his considered opinion - had been the mistake they had made five years ago when they had chosen their respective partners. He wished them both well.

He waited until Harry finally settled into his chair before speaking. 'What can I do for you, Harry? Despite the fact that I know you value my excellent company, I take it this isn't a social call?'

Harry smiled at the remark. 'No; it's not a social call. I just need to update you on a few things.'

'Such as?' asked Kingsley.

'Such as the fact that I might have a lead on where the escaped Deatheaters are,' Harry replied, knowing the impact his words would have. As expected, Kingsley nearly spilled his own cup of coffee down his front.

'Seriously?' Kingsley spluttered.

Harry nodded. 'Seriously. Do you remember Willie Widdershins?'

Kingsley knitted his brow in concentration for a moment. 'Willie? Of course I know Willie. He's the most incompetent crook in the world.' His eyes narrowed. 'You're not seriously trying to tell me that Willie Widdershins knows where these people are.'

Harry smiled. 'That's exactly what I'm telling you. I'm almost certain that he does – I'm hoping to speak to him later today.'

Kingsley took a moment to digest this latest revelation. 'Do you want me to have him picked up?'

Harry shook his head. 'No; he's got company so if we pull him in we might tip them off. I don't think Willie wants anything to do with them but it seems likely that they have been using him as a fetch and carry man. I don't think he had any choice. If this is the case, can I offer him immunity?'

Kingsley considered the question for a moment. 'If he can tell us where they are and IF he's been working for them against his will then he gets a pass. You might want to suggest to him the alternatives if he proves recalcitrant.'

Harry smiled. 'Oh, don't worry about that; I know exactly how to deal with Willie.'

'How did you discover this? Did this come up in your own investigation? Is it linked to the Malfoy case?'

Harry took a moment to reply, wondering just how much he should tell Kingsley about the case. He finally decided that he could trust him fully; indeed, he felt faintly ashamed that he could even question the integrity of this man. Kingsley was as straight as they came; if he was corrupted in any way then Harry knew there was no hope for any of them. He began to speak, explaining everything that they had discovered. He left nothing out; telling him of his findings in Draco's flat; of the Chang party; of Lucius Malfoy's argument with his son; of Dung's discovery and his own subsequent confirmation of Willie Widdershins' new status; and finally he told him of the revelation that Cho had met with Ron shortly before his death. Kingsley was silent throughout and when he'd finally finished, Harry noticed that his friend had a deeply thoughtful expression on his face.

'So the two deaths are linked,' Kingsley finally commented.

'It would appear so. Someone is up to something but I can't work out who or what it is yet. The only thing I know for certain is that Draco Malfoy is innocent. I can't prove this yet though and I'm running out of time. I've only got three days left and I don't know if that will be long enough to run down the clues.'

Kingsley nodded soberly. 'Is this why you have been speaking to the goblins?'

Harry was shocked. 'How the hell do you know that?'

'_Everyone_ knows that, Harry. Have you not seen the _Prophet_ today?' asked Kingsley as he pulled a copy of the newspaper from his desk drawer before handing it to Harry.

Harry was horrified; there on the front page was a photo of Hermione and him entering Gringotts. _Shit._

'Bastards,' he whispered. 'They must have someone following us.'

'Or they just had someone waiting in Diagon Alley,' replied Kingsley. 'They do have an office there; it's possible that someone spotted you when you passed. You are big news, Harry, much as you hate the fact. Everyone is interested in this case. Cho Chang murdered; Draco Malfoy the main suspect and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger investigating? It's a gossip monger's wet dream. I'm surprised they haven't got a picture of you taking a leak,' Kingsley added with a smile.

Despite himself, Harry laughed at the remark. It couldn't be helped; he'd always been front page news and the extra dimensions to this case just spiced it up. He noticed that Kingsley now had a serious expression on his face.

'Harry, you should know that as Minister, I am unable to interfere in the investigation of a Soul Thief. _However_; I will be able to provide Auror support if your information on the escapees is correct. I take it you will want to interview them if we manage to capture them?'

'Too right I will.'

'That's what I thought. I'll notify the Aurors to be ready.'

'Can you do me a favour, Kingsley? I don't trust everyone in that office. Could you wait until I receive confirmation? And even then, could you wait as long as possible before telling them? We can't risk tipping them off before we move.'

Kingsley conceded the logic. 'Fair enough; I won't say a word for now.' He looked amused for a moment. 'I might even dust off the old robes and take the lead on this one myself. If you have no objections, that is?'

Harry smiled his relief, glad that Kingsley had decided to take a pro-active role in the case. 'None at all; although I trust that driving a desk for five years hasn't blunted your instincts? We don't have room for passengers – especially those of a….more mature vintage?'

'You cheeky little bastard!' replied Kingsley, smiling. 'I'll show you whose instincts are blunted.' The two men shared a laugh before Kingsley turned serious again.

'You realise you have left me with a dilemma, Harry?'

'How so?'

'I trust your judgment; if you say Draco Malfoy is innocent then that's good enough for me. You don't have enough to convince the judge though and I cannot acquit Malfoy without abusing my powers. The law must take its course.'

Harry nodded. 'I understand.'

'However; I could not in good conscience allow Malfoy to be kissed but the most I can do is commute his sentence to life in Azkaban and even then there will be repercussions. Of course; I could decide to overstep my authority. Do I order an innocent man to be imprisoned for the sake of constitutional legality? Do I set a precedent that allows Ministers to overrule the courts? Or do I let Draco Malfoy be kissed to uphold our laws? I never thought I would have to face a decision like this when I became Minister.'

Harry felt a sudden surge of sympathy for this man. Kingsley was as decent a man as he'd ever known. His integrity was obvious and the very fact that he was wrestling with his conscience over the fate of someone who had once supported Voldemort spoke volumes for his character. He thought of the two previous occupants of this office and it occurred to him that neither would have given the matter a second thought. Kingsley would be damned whatever he decided to do.

_Why was it always the good men who were left hung out to dry?_

'I'll do my best to take that decision away from you. If I can prove Malfoy's innocence then you won't have to do anything.'

'I know, Harry. Just let me know if you need anything.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry as he stood to leave. 'I'll be in touch once I speak to Willie. See you later,' he added as he turned and headed out of the office. He felt vaguely cheated; he'd hoped to receive some counsel from Kingsley and while his friend was doing everything in his power to help he still felt burdened by the extra responsibility that had been thrust on him. His mind was churning as he meandered his way through the Ministry corridors towards his old office.

On arriving at the Auror department, he was pleasantly surprised to see that only Tom Proudfoot sat at his desk – the others were evidently out on assignment. He stood and leaned against the door.

'Do you ever do anything apart from paperwork these days?' he asked archly. He waited until Tom looked up before continuing. 'Is this what you've been consigned to? Office junior?'

'Tom smiled. 'Bugger off, Potter. I'm here only due to my diligence and my conscientious nature, I'll have you know.'

'You always were full of shit, Tom. Where is everyone?'

Tom leaned back in his chair and sighed. 'Fucked if I know. It's been unreasonably quiet recently so I don't know what everyone else is up to. Still; I suppose even the crooks take a holiday every now and then. Is there something you need help with, Harry?'

'Actually, there is. I'm glad you're on your own.' He made his way into the office and took a seat opposite Tom, putting his feet on the desk as he did so. 'Do you know anything about the party at Chang's house the night Cho was murdered? I got a copy of the guest list and I noticed that Robards was there. So was Dawlish. What's all that about?'

Tom smiled and ran his hand through his hair. 'Another bloody party?' He rolled his eyes. 'Robards has been to hundreds of the damn things since you left. He's become quite a regular on the cocktail circuit.'

'Why?'

Tom shrugged. 'No idea. He says it's because of his position; that as "head of a government department he has duties and responsibilities to perform."' Tom indicated the quotation marks with his fingers as he said this and the disgust was evident on his face.

'He really said that?' asked Harry.

'He really said that. Of course, the "duties and responsibilities" seem to consist of munching as much free grub and quaffing as much free booze that he can lay his hands on. He's an arse; he has an inflated sense of his own worth. He even insists that one of us accompany him to these damn things as he reckons a man in his position requires an aide.'

Despite the evident disgust on Tom's face, Harry burst out laughing. 'An aide? Is that why Dawlish was at Chang's that night?'

'Probably. It would have been his turn. We all have to do it and its bloody murder, let me tell you. I've had to attend about four of the damn things and would you believe that Robards won't even let us have a drink? He says that we're not allowed to be drunk on duty.'

Harry did his best to look solemn. 'That must be terrible for you.'

'You have no idea, Harry. It's bad enough listening to these people telling each other how important they are without having to endure it sober.'

Harry couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. Tom feigned hurt for a moment before finally joining in.

'So do you know if anything untoward happened that night?' he finally asked.

Tom seemed to consider the question. 'Not that I'm aware of. From what I can tell, it was just a typical cocktail party with the usual suspects in attendance. I take it Fudge's name was on the list too?'

Harry nodded, surprised by the question.

'I thought as much. No doubt Mockridge and Swing were also there?'

'How did you know?'

'They are _always _there, Harry. No cause or event too small for those guys when there's a good buffet and some fine wine in the offing. It's good PR for them too – there's a society column in the _Prophet _every day that details it all. It wouldn't surprise me if Robards kept the cuttings in a scrap book.'

Harry tried to hide his disappointment. He'd thought that there was some significance to the guests at Chang's party but it seemed that it was a normal occurrence. 'What do they talk about?' he finally asked.

'Apart from themselves, you mean?' Tom replied. 'Politics. Nothing but bloody politics. Most of the talk these days is about that bill your friend Hermione is trying to push through the Wizengamot and – no disrespect to Hermione – it's dull, dull, dull. You'd think at least one of them would want to talk about Quidditch, wouldn't you?'

'They don't?'

'No such luck. Like I said; it's boring. Even if I had been there I wouldn't be able to tell you if anything untoward occurred. I just switch off when I have to go to one of these things.'

Harry smiled despite the feeling that he had been stymied once again rising within him. He stood and made to leave. 'Well, thanks, Tom. I'm glad I was able to get you on your own anyway; I can't stand all the attention I get when I walk in here these days.'

'I thought you'd be used to it by now,' replied Tom.

Harry didn't answer; instead, he just gave him a glare to which Tom had the good grace to look sheepish about.

'Well, I'd better be going. I'm off to see if I can get a hold of Fudge. Do you know where I can get him these days?'

'Yeah,' replied Tom. 'He's got an office on the fifth floor although I don't know what the silly old fool does to justify it.'

Harry smiled at the comment knowing that Tom held the same opinion on Fudge as he himself did. He waved goodbye to his friend before heading out of the door and making his way to the fifth floor. As he passed people in the corridor he became aware of their scrutiny. He was getting rather fed up of being the main show in town and for the first time since returning he began to wish that he had remained in Peterhead.

Then he thought about Hermione and chided himself for the delusion. He glanced at his watch and noticed that it was drawing closer to lunchtime. With a smile, he pulled his mirror from his pocket and decided to give her a call.

_Some lunch would be nice. And seeing Hermione will be even nicer._

Hermione glanced up from the menu she was perusing as the door to the inn swung open. She smiled as she saw Harry enter the pub and she watched as he cast his glance around the room to try and locate her. It struck her once again just how much of a presence her friend cast in any room; even if one was not aware of Harry's exploits one could not help but notice him – even in a crowded bar.

And he _was_ noticed. She saw more than one female patron eye her friend up and down approvingly as he continued to look for her and she knew that none of these women knew anything about Harry, for this was a Muggle pub that they were in. She smiled as he finally located her and as he headed towards her and joined her at the table she drew a strange pleasure when she realised that a lot of the female attention was now transferred to her. They were checking her out to see what kind of woman got to enjoy the company of such a fine looking man. She knew she shouldn't feel so petty, but she had an overwhelming desire to stick two fingers up at these minxes. _Harry is here to see me!_

'Hi,' he said with a soft smile. 'Can I get you a drink?'

'Thanks, Harry. A glass of white wine will do me.' She watched as he made to go to the bar but before he'd had the chance a rather pretty young waitress approached and took his order. The smile she bestowed on him was breathtaking but he seemed to pay it no attention.

_Good._

'So what have you being doing this morning?' she asked.

Harry took a moment to reply, but when he did she listened with interest as he went over his meeting with Kingsley and his conversation with Tom. It was a lot to take in.

'So you never got to see Fudge?' she finally asked, once he had finished.

'No; the old git was off gallivanting somewhere. His secretary said he is due back this afternoon so I might try and see him before I go to talk to Willie. How did you get on?'

'Nothing yet, I'm afraid. There's just so much to go through. I'm glad you contacted me – I needed a break.'

He smiled. 'No problem. Lunch is on me.'

'No! I can pay my own way.'

'I insist. Take it as a token of gratitude for everything you have done for me. A very small token,' he added.

Despite trying to remain calm, she blushed. It occurred to her that she had being blushing quite a lot recently and she berated herself for acting like a love struck teenager. _I wasn't even this bad when I was a teenager!_

'It's nothing, Harry. I didn't do anything special.'

He reached across the table and took her hand. 'It was everything,' he said softly. 'Don't you get it? I was drowning, Hermione. You pulled me out. I don't think I will ever be able to repay you for that.'

His gaze was so intense that she felt herself almost being pulled into his eyes. She gave an involuntary shiver and to hide this fact she gave his hand a soft squeeze. 'Harry, having you back with me and smiling again is all the thanks I will ever need.' She lowered her eyes. 'I don't think you will ever appreciate just how much your leaving affected me. My life was on hold when you were gone. I worried about you constantly.' She looked up again and saw that his face had darkened and she admonished herself for causing him distress. 'I didn't say that to make you feel guilty, Harry,' she added hastily. 'I just wanted you to know that you...mean a great deal to me. That I missed you.'

Harry looked away for a moment and Hermione thought that she had gone too far; that she had undone all of the good work that the two of them had achieved together. When he finally responded, his words came as a mere whisper.

'I am so sorry that I ever left,' he began. He turned to face her and she almost wilted under his gaze. 'You needed me, Hermione and I wasn't there for you. I'll never forgive myself for that. You never abandoned me when I needed you; not once despite everything we went through together.' His face twisted into a biter grimace. 'You even followed me when you knew I was wrong. I never did the same for you.'

'But I told you to leave,' she said in a small voice, looking away from his gaze.

'And I should have known that you didn't mean it. Look at me, Hermione. _Look at me!_' he insisted as she ignored his initial request. Reluctantly, she turned to face him again. 'We have known each other for nearly thirteen years,' he continued. 'We have been through so much together. I should never have doubted you. For that I am sorry. Will you accept my apology?'

Hermione suddenly realised that she was glad that they were finally discussing this; that they were finally laying this ghost to rest.

'No,' she said, firmly.

'No?' Harry asked, incredulity evident in his voice.

'No,' she reiterated. 'You have nothing to apologise for, Harry. What's done is done. We both said and did things that we shouldn't have so I think we should both accept that and move on. Perhaps we needed a bit of distance between us? I wouldn't have realised just how much I need you in my life if you hadn't gone so perhaps it was for the best. Just don't do it again,' she added.

Harry stared at her for a long moment and she thought she could detect a hint of moisture in his eyes as he regarded her.

'Not in this life,' he whispered, his voice hoarse. 'You too,' he added. 'I need you in my life too, Hermione. I always will.'

She felt a sudden surge of emotion within her at these words. She felt almost lightheaded at the exchange and she finally realised with certainty that the two of them might - just might - have a future together. Harry was looking at her with a need in his eyes that almost disturbed her and it was with a feeling of some relief that the waitress chose that particular moment to request their orders.

As Harry dealt with the girl, Hermione came to a resolution. They had been dancing around one another all week. It was time to put a stop to it; it was time to start behaving with the honesty and openness that had always defined their relationship. This was not the place but she resolved that they had been skirting round the issue for long enough and that it had to be dealt with.

_Tonight, Harry. Tonight we sort this out once and for all._


	18. The Lie

**The Lie**

Harry stood silently in the corner of the Gents loo in the Hog's Head and emphatically decided that this was _definitely_ one time that his activities had better not end up splashed across the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ While it was true that since becoming an Auror he'd drawn a few unpleasant assignments he was absolutely certain that none even came close to this particular stakeout for sheer discomfort.

_How the hell did my life ever come down to this?_ he thought in grim amusement.

He'd managed to slip into the pub under his cloak without being discovered and had patiently waited in the same corner as before, praying that Willie would appear at his usual time once again. He'd been a little worried that his target wouldn't show up today and it was with a feeling of relief that he finally spotted the little crook when he finally did decide to arrive. Having satisfied himself that Willie was going to be staying for a while, he'd gingerly made his way to the loo without being discovered and begun his long vigil.

It had not been pleasant. He'd felt like some kind of sick voyeur as he'd stood in the corner and held his breath each time one of the bar's patrons had entered in order to ease their discomfort. He'd actually closed his eyes after a while, unable to face the spectacle in front of him. It wasn't that he was particularly squeamish about this sort of thing; rather, what had discomfited him the most was what some of these men did _after_ answering the call of nature. He'd had to stifle his laughter as he observed a variety of characters preening themselves in front of the mirror. One had quite solemnly and thoroughly picked his nose and another had even squeezed a few spots.

He closed his eyes as he considered this, silently vowing to tell no one of what he'd had to endure today. In a lighter moment he briefly considered _Obliviating _Hermione so she would not be in a position to relate what he'd had to do in the name of duty.

_They never said anything about this in the Auror manual._

In order to pass the time, he allowed his thoughts to wander on what had transpired earlier in the day. Lunch had been hugely enjoyable, particularly once they had finally cleared the air about his departure. After that they had spoken only of inconsequential matters almost as if they were ordinary people with ordinary lives. By unspoken agreement, they had not discussed the case, or Ron, or anything at all about the Magical world for that matter. He couldn't remember enjoying a lunch date more and he was delighted that his relationship with Hermione seemed to be back to being as strong as it ever was.

They'd finally – with some reluctance – decided that they had to return to their respective duties; she to Gringotts and he back to the Ministry and it had been with a faint feeling of despondency that they had parted company. He didn't feel quite right when he wasn't with her these days; if it were left up to him they would be spending every moment together.

He'd returned to the Ministry and had finally managed to track down Cornelius Fudge. He pursed his lips. The interview had not been particularly comfortable and he was still trying to digest what had been discussed. He wished Hermione was with him now so he could pick her brain for some ideas.

Fudge had seemed delighted to see him and he'd been struck once again at how the ex-Minister acted as if they'd never had their differences in the past. After sharing a few banal pleasantries, he'd finally asked the older man what had transpired at the Chang party the night Cho was murdered.

'_Am I a suspect, Harry?' Fudge had asked jokingly._

_Despite his feelings for the man, he'd forced a smile. 'Of course not, Mr Fudge. I was just wondering if you noticed anything untoward that night. I would also be grateful if you could tell me if anything of importance was discussed.'_

'_Importance? Well, yes; there was. Mr Chang had finally confirmed that he would be supporting us in passing the new legislation through the Wizengamot. We – that is Cuthbert and I – were naturally delighted to hear this. We have been trying to get him onside for some time as we think he will carry a significant number of votes with him. We were actually enjoying something of a celebration.'_

'_Chang agreed to support you? Hermione never told me that.'_

'_Oh, she doesn't know yet, Harry. The unfortunate events of that night overtook us and we never got round to it. Perhaps you will do me the honour of telling her?'_

'_I'd be glad to; she'll be delighted.' He'd paused before continuing. 'So nothing suspicious happened then?'_

'_Not at all. It was a perfectly civilised affair. There was a brief article about it in the Prophet the next day but I fear that it was overshadowed by the murder of poor Cho. No one wants to read about some bun fight when a case of this magnitude breaks.'_

_He'd nodded his understanding, making a mental note to get a copy of that day's Prophet. 'So did you see Cho leave?'_

'_I did; we were talking to her father in his study when she entered to inform him that she had an appointment. She never said who with though.'_

'_You were in the study? Why?'_

_Fudge had sighed deeply at the question and to Harry it had been the first sign of the old Fudge; the impatient and intransigent Minister he'd encountered in the past. 'We were discussing Magical issues, Harry and it was a mixed party. We didn't want any Muggles to overhear.'_

Which made sense, Harry allowed as his thoughts returned to the present moment. Fudge had told him nothing else of use and he'd left the interview with a vague feeling that he was definitely missing something. The answer was there – he could almost touch it – but for the moment it still eluded him.

He glanced up as the bathroom door swung open and he felt his heart give a lurch as he recognised the rather large form of one of Willie's "guards." He watched as the man cast a quick glance around the room before indicating to someone behind him with his thumb that the coast was clear. Harry held as breath and closed his eyes with relief as the shambling form of Willie Widdershins finally entered; the door closing quietly behind him. He had to move fast; it would not be long before the goon returned. He cast a quick silencing charm and waited only a brief moment for Willie to start what he had come here to do.

'Are you not a bit old to be asking permission to go to the loo, Willie?' he asked loudly as he whipped off his cloak and was delighted to see in the mirror that Willie nearly jumped out of his skin at his sudden appearance. _Well, at least he's in the right place; he just about pissed himself with fright._

'H-H-H-Harry? Harry Potter?'

'In the flesh. Don't turn round!' he added quickly as the smaller man moved to face him. 'Just carry on with your…business. This won't take a minute. I've wanted to have a word with you for a while but you're an awfully hard man to get a hold of these days, aren't you?'

'M-Me? You've wanted to speak to me?' Harry noticed in the mirror that Willie's eyes flitted towards the door and he remembered that he didn't have much time. He moved towards the smaller man and loomed over behind him, staring straight at his reflection.

'Where are the Deatheaters, Willie? I know you know where they are holing up.'

Willie's eyes widened at the question. 'I don't know what you are talking about, Harry. I don't meddle with those sorts.'

Harry sighed. 'William,' he began in a dangerously soft voice, 'we can do this one of two ways. Either you tell me – this instant – where they are hiding or I take you with me right now to see Kingsley Shacklebolt and you can answer _his_ questions. I can assure you he will not be as amiable as me and you will _quite literally_ be left holding your dick in your hand. He asked me to inform you that if you tell us where they are then you get a free pass. If you don't and they escape again then you will be taking their place in Azkaban. Am I making myself clear, William?'

He was gratified to see the shabby little man nod dumbly and he masked the sudden feeling of jubilation that burst from within him. 'I'm waiting, William,' he prodded.

'They are staying at an old converted warehouse in the Docklands – I don't know the exact address,' said Willie, hastily.

'But you know where it is? You've been acting as messenger boy for them, haven't you?' He could tell from Willie's expression that the man was dumbfounded as to how he knew all of this. He glanced at the door, expecting an interruption at any moment. 'Where is it, Willie?' he snapped.

'It's not far from where Ron Weasley was killed; it's only about 300 yards away. To the north,' he added.

Harry was stunned by the news; stunned because it occurred to him that the bastards were probably watching the day he and Ron walked right into their trap. He closed his eyes.

'If you are lying to me, Willie…'

'I'm not! I swear to God, it's the truth!'

He nodded. 'Good. Now; I don't have to tell you not to tell anyone of our little chat, do I?' Willie merely nodded. 'Excellent,' continued Harry. 'Now you just be a good boy and finish up and put that away,' he added with a slight inclination of his head downwards. 'And don't forget to wash your hands either,' he added sweetly as he threw his cloak back over himself. 'I'll be in touch soon,' he whispered into Willie's ear as he passed. 'Don't do anything stupid and don't even _think_ about warning them.'

He watched as the little crook quickly washed and dried his hands and it was evident from the tremors that Willie Widdershins had really had the wind put up him. After he had left, Harry stood for a moment and felt a cold rage pass through him as he considered the fact that the Deatheaters had been nearby when Ron had met his terrible end. He shook his head, trying to free himself of the image of Ron disappearing into the flames.

_I'm coming for you all, you bastards._

Hermione resisted the urge to glance at her watch as she sat patiently on her sofa stroking her faithful pet as she awaited the return of Harry. She'd had another frustrating day poring over the bank ledgers and she now had a bit of a headache as a result of her attempts to decipher the numerous rows and columns of dull, dry figures. She had found nothing of significance and was beginning to wonder if the answer did indeed lie within the dusty offices of Gringotts.

Having had enough, she'd decided to return home in order to return the favour to Harry by cooking for them both tonight. She thought it would provide a suitable setting if she was going to finally get what was between them out in the open. Unfortunately, she had not been able to contact him with the charmed mirrors and she suspected that he had deactivated his so that it did not go off at a bad moment. He _was_ on a concealed stakeout and it would not do to have his presence uncovered by the sudden interruption of her voice.

In almost any other circumstances, the thought of Harry hiding in a Gents loo would be comical but she was actually quite worried about him. She knew that his work as an Auror had put him into some delicate situations in the past but she was also aware that in previous instances, Harry would have had someone to back him up. Today, he was working alone and she now wished that she had insisted on accompanying him on the mission.

_Too late for regrets now._

She looked up as Crookshanks suddenly rose from his slumber and leapt off her lap before heading towards the door. As if on cue, it swung open and Harry entered and she could tell immediately from his expression that he had discovered something important. She stood and waited for him to hang up his cloak before questioning him.

'Well?' she asked. 'How did it go?'

Harry smiled and she could see the excitement in his eyes. 'We know where they are,' he said breathlessly. 'Dung was right; Willie has been supplying them. He told me where they are holed up. We're going to raid them first thing in the morning.'

'We?'

She noticed that he looked a bit sheepish. 'Yeah, well…I went to see Kingsley after I found out where they are. He's going to lead a full Auror raid on them. I'll be going too.'

She noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eye. 'And me?' she asked. 'I'll be going as well?'

'I'm afraid not,' he replied.

'_What? _Why not? Don't you trust me? I can handle mys…'

'I know you can handle yourself, Hermione. _Everyone_ knows that. No one doubts your abilities, least of all me. How can you think I wouldn't trust you with this after everything we went through together?'

'So why can't I come?'

'It was Kingsley's decision. You're not a trained Auror. We have all been taught how to deal with a situation like this. There are…procedures to follow and it _is_ a law enforcement matter. Despite everything you have done, you are still a civilian. Please don't take this as a slight on your abilities.'

Despite her initial feeling of resentment, she conceded the logic. After a moment, she decided to let the matter drop. 'Where are they?' she asked instead.

She noticed that he looked pained by the question. 'They're shacked up in an old warehouse not far from…not far from where Ron died,' he replied in a small voice. He looked away. 'It's likely that they were watching the two of us when we walked into their trap.'

'Oh, Harry,' she said, tenderness in her voice. 'You weren't to know. There's no way you could have known. You were acting on the information available.'

'I know. But I can't help but think that if I had done it differently; if I had taken more care…'

'Don't do this to yourself, Harry. You're not omnipotent; you couldn't possible have known where they were. No one could.' She moved towards him, her brief anger now gone and gently stroked his arm, waiting for him to turn and face her. When he finally did lock eyes with her, she continued. 'It wasn't your fault, Harry. You didn't kill Ron; they did. I know that you blame yourself but I beg you; just this one time, don't shoulder the burden.'

'He was my friend,' replied Harry. 'I was supposed to watch out for him. We always watched out for each other,' he added and her heart almost broke at the pain in his voice. It occurred to her that he probably hadn't grieved properly for Ron; that he'd spent his exile shutting himself off, closing down his feelings in order to keep the pain at bay. She didn't know what to say to him at that point and so instead did the only thing that seemed appropriate. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. At first she felt a slight resistance but she sensed him letting himself go as he allowed himself to be cocooned in her arms. He didn't weep; didn't suddenly fall apart; instead he just let himself be enfolded in her grip, his head resting on her shoulder.

To Hermione, all sense of time vanished as the two of them clung to one another as if their lives depended on it. She was aware of nothing but Harry; nothing but the feel of him pressed tightly against her; his breath soft on her neck. She inhaled deeply and felt almost dizzy as the scent of him threatened to overwhelm her senses. She had intended to offer him comfort, to provide shelter of a sorts but she found herself becoming lost in his very being, almost as the two of them were merging as one.

After what seemed like an age, they finally – almost reluctantly – broke apart and stood facing one another. She could tell that he was affected by the sudden physical contact and they stood gazing at one another, neither willing to break the spell. After a few moments, she could see that he was about to speak; was about to shatter the moment and on a sudden impulse, she decided to cast in her lot and thwart him. Without giving him time to react, she leaned up towards him and planted her lips on his.

The collision was like nothing she'd ever experienced or expected. At first, she felt him stiffen in surprise at her sudden advance but it was a fleeting moment. Almost instantly she sensed him respond, his soft lips beginning their own dance on hers as he wrapped his strong arms around her, almost crushing her in his embrace. She'd never felt so alive in her whole life as she did in that instant; she felt a surge through her entire form; her skin tingled all over her body and when his tongue began it's first gentle probe into her mouth she felt her own need rise within her. She responded to his overture; parting her lips wider to allow him easier access and she became vaguely aware that she was thrusting into him, gyrating her hips against him. His hands slid gently up the back of her blouse and the gentle stroking of her skin made her head swim. She completely surrendered herself to his touch and felt the first stirrings of his own desire as he pressed tightly against her. She reached down slowly and gently guided her hand towards the firm evidence of his arousal and…

And was taken aback as he suddenly broke the embrace and pulled himself away from her.

'I can't do this,' he gasped as he backed away from her, his arousal evident in both the colour of his face and in the hardness below that was clearly visible.

Hermione's world collapsed in that moment. She was too stunned to speak as a feeling of pain – almost as if she had been stabbed – surged through her chest. She couldn't get her head around what was happening. She'd been certain that there was something between them; certain that her overture would have been welcomed. And it had been welcomed. _And now this?_

'You don't like me in that way?' she finally managed to ask. 'I thought…I thought…I thought that we had some…'

She stopped. Stopped because Harry had gently placed his fingers on her lips. It broke his heart to see the distress his sudden rejection had caused this dearest of women, but he knew that he had to come clean; that he had to finally admit the truth he had been denying for too many long years.

'Shhh,' he began quietly. 'Don't cry; this isn't what you think.' He forced a smile. 'Do you trust me?' he asked gently.

Despite the incongruity of the question, she nodded. 'Of course I trust you, Harry. I trust you with my life.'

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'I want you to come with me. I need to take you somewhere; there is something I have to tell you.'

Feeling more confused than at any point in her life, she nodded her assent. She watched as Harry headed to the door before retrieving their coats. He put his on and held out hers and as she slid her arms into the sleeves she felt the suffocating pressure in her chest ease somewhat. She had no idea what he was up to but she knew that answers lay wherever they were going. Answers for her heart and perhaps answers that would help to explain what had happened to them both. She turned to face him and looked down as he took both of her hands in his, his touch still electrifying her. She stood as if in a dream, as if she was only imagining the embrace they had just shared.

'Whatever happens,' he began, 'I just want you to know that nothing will change how I feel about you.'

_What did that mean?_ she wondered. She made to reply but before she could speak she felt the familiar pull of Apparition as Harry pulled them both out of the comfort of her flat to an unknown destination.

When they arrived it took Hermione a few moments to orientate herself. She was still reeling from what had occurred just a few short moments ago and this sudden lurch to a new destination had deeply unsettled her.

'Where are we?' she asked as she glanced around their new surroundings. They were standing in a forest clearing that had a small lake in the middle and after a few moments, the realisation suddenly dawned on her. She glanced sharply up at Harry. 'Why are we here?' she asked and there was a hint of irritation in her tone.

He licked his lips and she could tell that he was nervous. 'You told me in the Weasley orchard that Ron never told you what he saw the night he destroyed the Horcrux, remember?'

She nodded, unsure where this was going.

'Well; it's about time you learned the truth about that night,' he said and he took her hand and led her towards the lake. When they reached it he released his grip and stood at the water's edge, facing away from her.

'You remember that night, of course? You were asleep when I heard something outside. When I went to investigate I saw the doe Patronus.' From the side, she could see him smile sadly. 'Snape's Patronus. It appeared over there,' he continued, pointing to a spot in the trees, 'and it led me to this lake. I couldn't believe it when I saw the sword lying in the water.'

'I know all of this, Harry,' she interrupted, a hint of impatience in her tone. She couldn't believe they were here discussing this when a few short minutes ago they had been in each others arms; had been…

'You don't know all of it,' he replied, interrupting her thoughts. 'Anyway,' he continued, 'I entered the water to retrieve the sword and that's when the locket tried to kill me. It dragged me under – I thought I'd had it. I came within a whisker of drowning and that's when Ron pulled me out.' He turned to face her, his eyes boring into her. 'He saved my life, Hermione. It's important that you bear this in mind. _Ron had just saved my life_.'

She took a moment to consider the intensity of his words, wondering about the significance of them. 'Then what happened?' she finally asked, now interested rather than vexed.

He turned away from her again and contemplated the still water. 'Then we took the sword and destroyed the Horcrux. I suddenly realised how to open it – don't ask me how – it just came to me. I thought it would be a good idea to let Ron destroy it. I was so glad to see him and I was still reeling from having nearly drowned so I suggested he do it. Besides; he did recover the sword. I opened the locket for him.'

'What happened?' she asked and despite what had just occurred in her flat, she was now completely riveted by the tale.

'Riddle appeared. He began to torment Ron by mocking his deepest fears.'

'Just like with me?'

'Kind of. Ron's fears were a bit more…complicated.' Harry sighed before beginning the recital of the words that haunted him still. _"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible. Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter."_ He finally turned to face her before continuing in a quieter voice. _"Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend. Second best, always, eternally overshadowed."_

And she understood. She understood the torment Riddle had subjected Ron to. She looked directly at Harry, knowing there was more to come; knowing too that the Horcrux had been correct. _The girl who prefers your friend._

_Oh, Ron._

Harry turned away once again and spoke into the night. 'It got worse. Images of the two of us appeared from the locket and tormented him. We…that is the images, kissed in front of him and mocked him for believing that you might love him. At that point I thought Ron would break; that he wouldn't be able to do it. But then he managed to summon the will from somewhere and he rammed the sword home.'

Hermione stood in silence, weeping quietly, horrified at what Ron had endured. She didn't have too much time to dwell on this, however, as Harry continued the tale.

'After he had destroyed it, he was broken. I knew he was wondering if I had feelings for you. If there was anything going on between us.'

She held her breath, almost terrified at what he might say next.

'I told him that I only loved you like a sister,' continued Harry before turning to face her, looking her directly in the eye. For an interminable moment they held each others gaze, their world on a precipice.

'I lied.'

The words rang out in her head like a gunshot. It took a moment for the implications of what he was telling her to sink in. When they did, she felt a sudden rush of guilt for knowing that Ron's fears were not groundless, followed swiftly – perhaps in reaction to the guilt – by anger.

'You lied,' she repeated, flatly, that simple fact blocking out all else.

He nodded. 'Yes.' He took a moment before deciding what to say next. 'This is why I stopped us in your flat a few minutes ago even though I didn't want to.' He licked his lips. 'I love you, Hermione. I love you with everything I am. But I couldn't start anything with you until I told the truth. I have always loved you, Hermione. For years and years I have loved you. Despite Ginny; despite Ron; despite everything; I have always loved you.'

She couldn't believe she was hearing this. _So everything has been a lie? How has he kept this from me for so long? We're not supposed to have any secrets between us!_ She thought suddenly of her own unrequited feelings for Harry all those years ago and the realisation that the Horcrux had been correct in its terrible summation of Ron drove her guilt and her anger even further.

'So you just decided, did you? You just took it upon yourself to decide who everyone should be with? You didn't think that maybe I would have liked a say in the matter?'

'It wasn't like that! I…'

'It was exactly like that, Harry! You treated me like some prize; treated me like a reward for good behaviour. You speak as if Ron had somehow "earned" me by destroying the Horcrux! You never thought to ask what I wanted; what I needed!' Tears were running down her cheeks as she spoke but she disregarded them. _How could he do this to me?_

'I thought you loved Ron,' Harry replied, a touch of anger in his voice too. 'You mooned over him all during sixth year and I knew for a fact that he was in love with you. I thought you had already decided; that you had decided on Ron – that you loved _him_. Who was I to stand in the way of that? We were friends; I wasn't going to jeopardise your happiness.'

'But you were willing to jeopardise your own, weren't you? And you _did_ jeopardise mine and Ron's too, for that matter. You never gave me the choice. You made the decision for all of us.'

'I thought you had both already decided. I didn't think either of you had a decision to make.'

'But _you_ did, Harry. It turns out you had a decision to make and you never said a word. You made it all by yourself even though it affected all of us.' The shock and the hurt drove her on. 'That's just typical of you, Harry. Always bearing the burden when Ron and I were there to help,' she added caustically.

'You couldn't have helped me with this,' he replied and his voice was barely a whisper.

'You never gave us the chance!' she exclaimed. 'For God's sake, Harry,' she added, almost beseechingly. 'Hadn't you sacrificed enough?'

'You never gave me any sign that you could have helped. That you had a choice to make too,' he replied and there was a touch of reproof in his tone. 'And no; I hadn't sacrificed enough. You weren't there; you have no idea what I had to deal with. Ron was facing his deepest fear – he was close to breaking. I wasn't going to be the one who twisted the knife, especially after he had just saved my life. I couldn't destroy his dreams.'

'But you could destroy your own?' _And mine, _she didn't add.

He shrugged. 'I never had any dreams. I thought I was going to die. I thought that I never had a chance against Voldemort so why risk shattering what the three of us had for the sake of something that I didn't expect to live to see?'

The question struck her like a blow. Already reeling from the revelations of this night – as well as from what had transpired in her flat – she found herself unable to digest all of the implications. Without realising what she was doing, she began to back away from him.

'I can't take all of this in, Harry. It's too much; I need…time to consider this. I'm sorry; I don't know what you were expecting me to do but I don't know how to deal with this yet.'

'I wasn't expecting anything from you. I just thought that you finally deserved the truth. I love you, Hermione and I was beginning to hope that you might find yourself able to return that love in some way. But I _had_ to tell you this. I couldn't begin professing my love for you with a lie. I hope you can understand that.'

'I can, Harry. Believe me; I do understand why you had to tell me. It's everything else I am struggling with at the moment. I need some time alone to process this. I'm sorry; I have to…go and think about this. I will see you in the morning,' she added as she turned to leave. She saw a stricken look flash on his features and a sudden thought occurred to her. 'Promise me something,' she said quickly.

'Anything,' he replied, his voice seeming to come from a distance.

'Promise me you won't leave again. Promise me you won't return to your old life.'

'You are my life, Hermione. I'm not going anywhere.'

She felt more tears threaten to burst forth at this simple declaration but at that moment she felt she was suffocating, such was the turmoil she was in. She turned from him and walked a few yards before deciding where she had to go. There was only one possible location for her now; only one person who could help her deal with what had happened. She closed her eyes and Apparated to a familiar, welcoming detached house. After taking a few seconds to compose herself, she rapped on the door. After a moment it swung open and a pleasant looking middle aged lady greeted her with a smile.

'Oh, mum,' cried Hermione as she threw herself into the welcoming embrace.

A few hundred miles away, Harry sat by the side of the lake and wondered if he had just made the greatest mistake of his life.


	19. Ships in the Night

**Ships in the night**

Jane Granger sat on one end of the sofa and held her daughter's hand as she listened to Hermione finally finish explaining what was upsetting her so much. It had been a long tale in the telling and had made for a long night. Now as silence finally descended, she realised that Hermione was waiting expectantly for the advice she hoped would alleviate her distress. The problem was Jane had no idea what to say to her at the moment.

She'd initially been delighted to see Hermione when first opening the front door but it immediately became clear that it was not an unexpected social call; rather her only child had required a shoulder to cry on and some good, solid, motherly advice. It had taken a few minutes to get Hermione to calm down enough to talk about what was distressing her but she had managed to do so with the aid of a strong cup of tea and she knew now that it had been worth the effort. Now as she considered everything she had been told, she came to realise that her daughter had kept so much of her life hidden away from herself and her husband. She felt like weeping too, but that was not what Hermione needed right now. Hermione needed her to be strong; needed her to be the shoulder to cry on; the rock that she could cling to in a world that had suddenly threatened to overwhelm her and sweep her away. Jane would save her own tears for later.

Jane Granger had always been proud of her daughter. Proud of her achievements; of her intelligence and of the warm, loving young woman she had matured into over the years. She was aware that Hermione was considered a heroine in the magical world owing to her role in the defeat of Voldemort but she'd never fully been aware of just exactly what that role had been.

_Until now._

Jane sighed as she considered what her daughter had just divulged. Hermione had spoken haltingly at first but had soon warmed up and had narrated everything that she and her two friends had been through since she first entered the magical world. She had spoken for several hours and Jane had hardly said a word; content only to speak when seeking clarification on some point or other, or to offer reassurance when Hermione faltered. It was with a growing sense of disbelief that she had listened to everything her daughter had endured. She'd had to suppress her horror as Hermione – _her little girl_ – had spoken of death and destruction; of murder and intrigue and eventually of the desperate, final battle that had finally rid the world of Voldemort once and for all.

She now viewed Hermione in an entirely new light. She now understood what had driven her daughter to wipe the memories of herself and her husband and as a result of this new understanding she felt petty and sorrowful for not having fully forgiven Hermione for doing such a thing. Relations between the three of them had been strained since their return from Australia but now she had heard the details of what Hermione had endured, she felt a surge of remorse for ever questioning her daughter's motives.

_She'd had no choice. She was only trying to protect us._

As she'd listened patiently to the tale, she'd had a premonition of where it was going and so it had come as no surprise to finally discover what lay at the heart of the matter.

_Harry Potter._

She closed her eyes for a few moments and considered what had transpired between Hermione and Harry earlier. She'd always known that Harry was different; that he was famous in the magical world and that great things had always been expected of him. But tonight was the first time she had heard the whole story and despite the obvious love and concern she had for her daughter, she found herself returning to one dominant thought; _that poor, poor boy._

It defied belief what he had been through. She couldn't claim to know him well but she had always liked what she did know. He was quiet and unassuming; modest and courteous and she had always detected hidden depths to him which she now fully understood. It obviously took a long plumb line to fathom Harry Potter and it was with a sense of pride that she realised that Hermione was probably the only person who had ever managed to get behind the mask and find the real Harry that lay underneath. To manage this while being involved with another man was no mean achievement and it occurred to her that this was what lay at the heart of the matter. This was what was causing the distress.

_Hermione, Ron and Harry_, she mused. A trio that had overcome so much adversity and in doing so had forged bonds that could not possibly be understood by any not of their group. And she knew exactly where that could lead; precisely the problems that such a dynamic could cause. She cast her mind back to the not so distant past.

When Hermione had first brought Ron home and introduced him as her boyfriend to herself and Dan, she'd been very surprised. After years of receiving letters that spoke about little but Harry; of listening to Hermione during the summer holidays talk about her raven haired friend, it had come as a shock to discover that Ron Weasley was the man she'd elected to spend her life with. It wasn't that she or Dan had had anything against Ron – on the contrary. Ron had been a good man; had clearly loved Hermione and it was obvious that he always tried his best to make her happy – everything, in fact, that parents wanted from the man dating their daughter. But on the few occasions Harry had also been present, she'd noticed that _he _made Hermione happy without even having to try. Harry did it just by being there. There was definitely something between them and had it not been for the fact that Hermione was with Ron, she would have sworn blind that there was an attraction between Hermione and Harry.

_And I was right, wasn't I?_

Hermione's final revelation of the night had not surprised her at all; indeed the only surprise was that it had taken so long for the matter to come to a head. When Ron died, Hermione had been understandably distraught but when Harry had left she had noticed her daughter really withdraw into herself. It had been an extremely trying period.

And now Harry was back and with his return came the re-opening of old wounds. Jane understood her daughter's feelings of anger and guilt but she was also aware of an acute sadness for the young man who had lied. She understood – perhaps even better than Hermione – _why_ Harry had told the lie. He thought he was going to die and when she considered this; when she pondered on the fact that a seventeen year old boy could shoulder the burden of an entire society and in doing so quite dispassionately contemplate his own death, she felt moved to tears. Harry had been willing to die for all of them and she could not even begin to imagine how he must have felt when walking to face Voldemort.

_Walking to his death._

She opened her eyes as Hermione suddenly began to speak again.

'Do you understand why I am having trouble dealing with this, mum? He told the lie to Ron that night but indirectly he lied to me too – and Ginny. If I had known about how he felt then I would have acted differently. I settled; I accepted Ron and in doing so I lied as well. Riddle was correct; when it came to true friendship and love, Ron _was_ second when compared to Harry. He always was.'

It was clear that Hermione expected her to have the answer; expected her to think of a solution to what seemed an insurmountable problem. But when she considered everything that she had been told, Jane Granger knew that there was only one approach to take; that only one thing she had been told by her daughter _really_ mattered.

'Hermione? Are you in love with Harry?'

She saw the surprise on her daughter's face at the question, but saw too that she was considering her answer. After a short pause she finally nodded her assent before looking away.

'And he loves you, dear. He loves you in quite an extraordinary way. What happened five years ago doesn't matter anymore. Yes, you're right; he shouldn't have lied, but he did what he thought was for the best.' She paused before continuing, thinking best how to proceed. 'You shouldn't be surprised that he did what he did.' She waited until Hermione looked up sharply at these words. 'Was Harry prepared to die for his friends, do you think?' she asked her daughter, already knowing the answer.

Hermione nodded. 'He didn't know Voldemort's curse wouldn't work. He had no idea he was still protected. He…he walked into that forest expecting to die.'

'Think about that, Hermione. Harry was prepared to sacrifice his _life_ for his friends. Why be astonished that he also sacrificed his heart?' She saw her daughter gasp at this observation but ploughed on. 'It's quite obvious that he loved Ron – I can't think of a nobler deed a man could do for his friend.'

'But I am his friend too! Where was the consideration for me?'

Jane sighed. 'Hermione? I want you to be totally honest with yourself because this is very important. Did you ever give Harry any sign that you had feelings for him? That his love might be returned?'

Hermione took her time before answering and when she finally spoke, her anguish was manifest.

'No! I never thought he loved me in that way. I was too afraid to take the chance. I thought he loved Ginny.'

'And he thought you loved Ron. You can hardly blame him for doing what he did, can you? He thought you loved Ron and he _knew_ Ron loved you. He obviously thought that revealing his true feelings would shatter the friendship the three of you shared. It would have, wouldn't it?'

Hermione looked at her feet and nodded and Jane's heart almost broke at the sight of her only child in such pain. 'Yes; Ron would never have forgiven us,' Hermione finally replied in a small voice.

'And yet you are angry at Harry for not revealing how he felt even though he was certain that his love would not be reciprocated. You expected him to destroy what the three of you had for the sake of unrequited love?'

'But I wouldn't have rejected him!'

'He didn't know that, Hermione. What else could he have done?'

She watched as her daughter considered the question and it was obvious that this was something that she really hadn't thought through. This gave Jane a fuller insight into just how rattled her daughter was by what had occurred – it was most unlike Hermione not to see what was important. She decided to press on; to finally make Hermione see what really mattered.

'He loves you, Hermione. He has for over five years. And you love him. Does anything else matter? Are you really going to risk that for a mistake made five years ago? How far are you willing to let the past affect your future, dear?'

This clinched it, she knew. She watched the expression on Hermione's face change at these words. Watched as her daughter finally accepted the truth of her heart and finally came to terms with what had occurred. Hermione sat up suddenly, her face full of alarm.

'Oh, God! What have I done? Harry! Poor Harry! I need to go to him, mum. I need to see him!' she exclaimed as she got to her feet.

Jane smiled, relieved that her daughter had finally got there. 'Yes, dear; you do. But I think we should get you straightened out first. Don't take this the wrong way but you look terrible. It's probably best if we get you looking human again before seeing him. Don't you agree? Besides,' she added, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, 'it's the middle of the night. Sensible people are asleep right now.'

Hermione took a moment to consider these words and when she did – to Jane Granger's delight – she smiled.

'Harry has never been sensible his entire life,' she said with amusement. 'But you're right, mum. Thanks,' she added, before reaching over and giving her mum a hug that tried to convey her gratitude.

Harry stood in Kingsley's office and phased out what was being said as the Minister outlined to his audience what was going on. It was crowded; there were a dozen Aurors present all of whom had been called in at short notice to carry out the raid. Harry had been adamant that such security was necessary; he had insisted that no one be allowed to go off alone once everyone had been informed of the mission. He was not willing to risk the chance of someone slipping off and warning the Deatheaters.

But he knew what the mission was and so was able to ignore Kingsley as he outlined the plan. Instead, his thoughts turned to the events of the previous evening and for the thousandth time he cursed himself for his handling of the whole situation.

He'd lingered for a long time by the side of the lake – lingered until the first signs of sunrise could be discerned just below the eastern horizon. He'd felt as if he was looking upon the scene of his greatest folly which – considering all the cock-ups he'd made in his life – was quite an achievement. He'd been distraught when Hermione had left. He had not known what her reaction would be but he had to confess that the possibility of her leaving had not crossed his mind when beforehand he had tried to imagine all the possible scenarios of finally coming clean. He'd been angry at first; angry that she could walk away from him after he had just revealed the innermost feelings of his heart. He had sat down by the lake and wondered how she could have done such a thing to him.

Thankfully, this line of thought had not lasted long. After a few moments he had realised how selfish he was being. It wasn't about him; it was about Hermione and he'd realised with certainty that her reaction was perfectly natural. He had ambushed her; had hit her with a momentous revelation that called into question their entire relationship.

_No wonder she needs the time. I would too if the roles had been revered._

After coming to this realisation he had calmed down somewhat and his anger was replaced with a feeling of dread that had not yet gone away.

_What if she can't forgive me? What if she never wants to see me again? No matter what she decides, we can never go back to the way things were._

And this was the cause of the dread, he knew. His revelation had changed their dynamic – their friendship was changed forever, whatever she decided. If she could not love him the way he wanted her to then they could never return to the close friendship they had enjoyed up until now. He had let the cat out of the bag; he couldn't unsay anything and what he'd admitted would always be between them. She knew he loved her and that was not something that anyone could be expected to ignore.

_And if she gives me the answer I want?_ Then their friendship would change to something else; something he wanted – no needed – above all else.

He closed his eyes as he recalled their embrace in her flat. He had never experienced anything like it. Although he had lived like a monk this past year, he was no stranger to the physical side of a relationship. But nothing had prepared him for the sheer…_intensity _of what he had felt with Hermione. He'd been taken aback when she had leant forward and planted her lips on his but his instincts had taken over and he had moved immediately to return her overture. He'd lost himself in her embrace; it had almost been primal such was the manner in which his reason had suddenly flown. He had never – not ever – felt such a need and the sensation of losing all control still astonished him. They had only kissed; had remained fully clothed and yet he had felt a desire and an arousal that he'd never known possible.

When she had reached for him it had taken all of his will power to break away from her. It was not that he did not want to continue - on the contrary, he wanted nothing more – rather it was because he knew that if they had gone even a little further then he would have ended up giving himself completely to her.

He had not wanted to do that before telling her the truth but even now a small part of him wished he had ignored his conscience for once. _I might never get another chance_, he realised. Their embrace had been an indicator – the merest sip – of the possibilities that lay before them if Hermione could forgive him and love him. He wondered if he would be able to live with the knowledge if she cast him aside; if that one brief taste would torment him for the rest of his days if she denied him.

He'd hoped that she would have returned before he felt the need to depart for the Ministry but as the sun had finally begun to poke its way into the sky there had been no sign of her.

'Harry?'

He snapped out of his thoughts at being addressed directly. He glanced up at Kingsley, a hint of apology in his eyes.

'I said are you ready to go, Harry? The briefing is over; we are all set,' said Kingsley.

Harry could detect some hostile stares from some of the others present and it occurred to him that this was not the time or place to let his personal life get in the way. What they were about to do was dangerous and he did not want anyone thinking he was unreliable – or unprepared.

He nodded. 'I'm ready, boss. You just say the word.'

Kingsley held his gaze for a moment before nodding. 'OK; let's go,' he finally replied.

Five minutes later the group could be found in the doorway of an old warehouse that was adjacent to the one to be raided. All were concealed and Harry was grateful to see that all were accounted for too. No one had attempted to slip away and he was as certain as he could be that the targets were completely unaware of what was about to happen.

He watched as Tom and Kingsley cast their wands in seemingly random patterns as they muttered under their breaths. It looked absurd but he knew what they were doing was vital. Both men were locating and removing a variety of traps and detection charms and doing it in such a way that those inside would have no clue what was going on. He suppressed his admiration, knowing that both men were experts at this sort of thing and he had complete trust in their abilities. To pass the time while he waited, he glanced around the corner and eyed the old brick building in order to locate any potential problems. It was much like the one that Ron had met his end in; it looked run down and the ground in front of it was littered with debris from a bygone era. He noticed that there were some old containers dotted around that would provide some cover and on the side of the building he noticed an old water tank and what looked like some old gas canisters. They too could act as some cover, he realised. He turned his attention to Kingsley as the older man began to speak.

'Right; that's us clear to go. This will be my command post,' Kingsley whispered. 'You all have your assignments; make sure you keep all the exits covered. We have set up an anti-Apparition ward so the only way out is through one of these exits. Dawlish and I will be the back up in case any of you get into trouble. Just use your mirrors if you need to. Stay with your assigned partners if you can. I know that it is possible for you to get separated but do your best to back each other up. You have all done this kind of thing before; just remember what you have learned. Good luck everyone,' he added with a grim nod.

Harry felt a sudden surge of fear as he sought out his partner. No matter how many times he had done this sort of thing he still found that the last few moments before everything kicked off were always the worst.

_I could die here today_, he thought and with that realisation he was suddenly glad that he had told Hermione the truth. _No matter what happens; at least she will know._ A sudden thought occurred to him and he crept over towards Kingsley who regarded him with a questioning look.

'Kingsley? Can you do me a favour?' he asked as he withdrew his mirror from his pocket and cast a quick charm on it. 'Would you mind swapping mirrors with me? Hermione might want to get in touch and I don't want it going off in the middle of the raid. It's still hooked up to everyone else, but she has her own mirror that can access this one.'

Kingsley didn't reply. He simply withdrew his own mirror and wordlessly made the exchange. Harry smiled his gratitude before making his way over to his partner for the mission.

He glanced up at Tom as he neared him, glad that Kingsley had assigned them together. They had partnered on a number of missions and he drew comfort from the familiarity the two of them shared.

'Ready, Potter?' Tom asked with a grin.

Despite his fear, Harry grinned back. 'Ready.'

Hermione quietly slid open the front door of her apartment and entered, taking care to tread softly in case Harry was asleep. The hands on her watch told her that it was still the middle of the night but at this time of the year dawn came early and as she had neared her home she had been aware of the first glimpse of sunlight as it began to creep over the horizon. She noticed Crookshanks raise his head from his position of slumber in front of the fire but for once her pet seemed content to remain where he was, safe in the knowledge that his mistress had returned.

To her surprise she noticed an envelope on the floor and it was with a feeling of dread that she leaned down and snatched it up. She flipped it over to see who it was addressed to and felt a wave of relief wash over her as she recognised straight away that the writing was not Harry's. It was addressed to _Miss Hermione Granger_ and she elected to put it down on the table, deciding that it could wait; she had more important things to deal with right now.

She hadn't realised how late it was and the lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with her. She hadn't intended to speak for so long but once she'd begun talking to her mother she'd felt a dam burst within her and had suddenly been overcome with a desire to tell her mum everything. She was glad she had done this; as each part of her magical life was revealed she felt a sense of release and it was with some relief that she had finally managed to relate the tale. Her mum's obvious good sense had also helped her come to terms with what had happened. It was just like her to cut right to the heart of the matter.

'_Hermione? Are you in love with Harry?'_

Such a straightforward question and ultimately the only question that really mattered. _Of course I am in love with him. _

She now felt terrible for leaving him by the lake. He had just bared his soul; had just done the decent, honourable thing by revealing the truth to her. It was typical of him to want to be totally open and honest with her and she now knew that she wouldn't want it any other way. It was one of the things she loved about him; his obvious need to ensure there were no secrets between them. She only hoped that he did not view her departure as a betrayal; that he would understand her need for some time and space.

She'd been completely overwhelmed by the revelation. While suspecting that Harry had strong feelings for her – even loved her – she'd had no idea that he'd harboured these feelings for so long. Her mum was right though; there was nothing to be gained by dragging the past into the present. Harry had his reasons for lying and now that she was able to view the issue with some objectivity, she knew that his reasons were sound – if misguided.

_Harry was prepared to sacrifice his life for his friends. Why be astonished that he also sacrificed his heart?_

She felt the tears well up again as she recalled he mother's words. Just when she thought he could no longer surprise her, she discovers something like this. When she thought of everything he had done in his short life she actually wondered how Harry remained sane. _How did I ever claim him back after Ron died?_

She approached the door to his room and slowly opened it expecting to see the sleeping form of her friend and - she hoped – her soon to be lover. To her discomfort she realised immediately that the bed was empty; that it was still made from the previous day and she knew instantly that Harry had not been home.

_Shit. Where would he have gone?_

Taking a moment to consider her options, she concentrated on a forest clearing and a few seconds later she found herself by the lake where so much had happened. She glanced around, hoping and praying to see his familiar form but it was apparent that he had left this spot too. She glanced to the eastern sky and saw that the sun was now fully up.

_Damn it!_ She knew that he was going on the raid this morning but she had no idea what time they would be starting out. Something told her that it would be soon; that they would want to catch the Deatheaters unaware and that the raid would be done as close to first light as possible. Fighting a sudden feeling of panic that rose within her, she closed her eyes again and a few moments later found herself in the Atrium of the Ministry. Ignoring the curious stares of the few early risers present, she dashed immediately for the elevators and made her way straight to Kingsley's office. When she got there, she thrust the door open and was confronted with the rather startled expression on the face of Susan Bones.

'Hermione?' she asked in surprise.

'Have they gone yet?' she asked without preamble. 'Has Harry gone?'

'They left about ten minutes ago,' replied Susan, taken aback. 'Is something wrong?'

Hermione considered the question. _Yes! Everything is wrong! I need to see Harry! _

'No; nothing that can't wait,' she replied as casually as she could. 'Thanks, Susan; I'll see you later,' she added as she turned and left the office. She had only gone a few yards when she stopped and rested her back against the wall. She closed her eyes as she considered her options and fought a growing sense of unease.

_Calm down!_ She thought to herself as she took a few deep breaths. Getting worked up now wouldn't help the situation, she knew, so she did her best to recover her composure as she decided what to do next. She knew where the raid was to take place; knew from her conversation with Harry that it was close to where Ron had died. While she had never visited that particular spot she did know where it was.

_Do I go there now? Will I get in the way?_ She decided against it. Her presence would not be wanted there by the majority of Aurors and it occurred to her that she might prove something of a distraction to Harry too. He needed to be fully focussed on the job at hand so no; going to the scene of the raid was not an option at the moment.

Then she remembered her mirror and cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. She withdrew it from her pocket and regarded it thoughtfully. She glanced at her watch, knowing that she risked distracting Harry if she called him now. _Would they have started yet?_ Susan said they left ten minutes ago. Would they have started so soon?

Deciding to chance it, she activated the mirror and waited for a reply. To her pleasant surprise, she realised that her call was being answered.

'Harry?' she asked breathlessly. 'Harry? Can you hear me?'

'Hi, Hermione,' came a familiar voice. _But not Harry's voice._ It was Kingsley. 'Harry said you might call. It's not a good time to talk I'm afraid; they have already gone in. They shouldn't be too much longer.'

'I'm sorry, Kingsley,' she replied, confused at having the Minister reply on Harry's mirror. 'Is he OK?' she asked tentatively.

Kingsley sensed her concern. 'He's fine; he just swapped mirrors with me – he said you might try to get in touch. He didn't want his going off at a bad time.'

Hermione hid her relief and was about to reply when she saw Kingsley look away sharply.

'Where did those flames come from?' she heard him ask sharply. 'Dawlish! Where did that fire come from, damn it?' She could hear the concern in Kingsley's voice but she couldn't hear the muffled reply from Dawlish. 'Well I don't care what you think,' she heard Kingsley say. 'Get them out. That fire is spreading fast! Pull them out right now!'

Hermione thought that her heart was going to explode such was the feeling of suffocation that she was experiencing. _Flames? Spreading? Oh, God, Harry. Please tell me you're out of there. Please._

Time passed but she had no idea how long such was the intensity with which she focussed on the mirror. Finally, she heard further muffled shouts and then Kingsley's loud clear voice once again. 'Is everyone accounted for?' she heard him ask. Once more, she couldn't hear the full reply; once more she was frustrated by the limitations of her mirror. Then she heard a voice that she recognised as Tom Proudfoot's.

'Harry's still in there! Drop the Apparition wards!'

Hermione slumped to the ground, her back still pressed against the wall. _This can't be happening. Not again. Please, God; not again._

'I don't give a fuck if they could escape!' Tom's voice again. 'That building is going to go! Drop the Apparition wards! Do it now!'

Hermione sat with the mirror on her knees and stared into the glass, tears starting to fall down her face. She opened her mouth to speak but before she had the chance to ask for more information a sudden, loud crash could be heard and the image on her mirror went completely black for a few moments. She lurched forward, pressing her ear to the glass to try and hear what was happening. She heard nothing for what seemed like an eternity before Kingsley's voice broke the silence.

'Did anyone see him?' she heard him say, and the anguish in his voice was matched only by her own feeling of dread. 'Did anyone see him?' Kingsley repeated, urgently.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Harry._

_Harry._

It was at precisely that moment that another loud crash could be heard; one that shook the very building around her.


	20. The Raid

**The Raid**

Harry glanced to his right as the various pairs of Aurors tentatively made their way towards the building. He could see with a feeling of satisfaction that everyone was following their training. Kingsley had been correct; skilled witch that she was, Hermione would not have moved with the same degree of efficient control as the Aurors were displaying this morning.

He glanced back towards Tom and noticed that it was now his own turn to move. They were moving in a "cover formation" – each man would crouch into an advance of ten yards or so into a new position while his partner provided cover. Realising that it was his turn to move, Harry quickly crept towards the water tank and old canisters he had spied earlier and settled into position near the door, his wand out and his eyes sweeping the vicinity.

'Clear,' he whispered to Tom who took this as his own cue to scuttle across the last remaining patch of open ground to join Harry. Both men glanced along the length of the building to where Mark Savage lay poised to enter the door at that side. Harry suppressed a grin despite the seriousness of the situation. One result of Kingsley's order to keep Dawlish with the reserve was that Mark had been forced to partner Zabini. His friend had not been happy with the arrangements and had even gone as far as to threaten Blaise with physical harm if he cocked up.

However amusing Harry found that particular arrangement, he knew that they were now all in deadly earnest. He stared directly at Mark and raised his arm, making a fist as he did so to indicate that he and Tom were ready. He saw Tom place his hand on the door handle and suppressed a shudder as he remembered the last time he was in a similar situation. Strangely, the memory served to strengthen his resolve and when he saw Mark return his own signal he felt a sudden feeling of relief as he knew that the action was finally on.

'They're ready,' he hissed to Tom. 'Let's go; keep your head down.'

With this confirmation, Tom Proudfoot yanked down on the handle and swiftly swung the door open. Harry immediately entered, ducking low to his right as he did so and taking shelter behind the first available cover - which in this case happened to be a rather fine mahogany table. It took a moment for this fact to register as his eyes scanned the room for threats and it was only after he spotted Tom dive behind a green Chesterfield leather sofa that he realised that this vast, ruined warehouse was in fact only a facade for what was apparently an extremely plush and luxurious living quarter. He noticed the same look of surprise on Tom's face as he too took in the surroundings.

Harry took a moment to size up the situation. He noticed that the vast space was extremely well furnished but he noticed too that the whole area was a mess. Empty bottles and discarded plates and crockery littered the floor and he was immediately reminded of the squalor that he had been living in barely a week ago. While this was on a much grander scale, the similarities caused him a great feeling of discomfort and he found himself having to shake himself in order to concentrate fully on the matter at hand.

There was no sign of the Deatheaters. His first glance around the room had not registered any threat and it was only when he looked up that he realised that there were a number of furnished floors to this building. He scanned to his right until he found what he was looking for; a flight of stairs that led to the upper levels and – hopefully – to where the targets were. He was again struck by the richness of his surroundings; while from the outside the building looked like a derelict warehouse, inside it resembled the abode of a rich man. Lucius wasn't kidding when he said they didn't need money; this must have cost a fortune. One thing was for certain; _this was the right place._

He caught Tom's eye and pointed towards the stairs, moving his hand in a circular motion to indicate his intent. Tom nodded his understanding and both men glanced down the length of the room to see that Mark and Blaise had come to the same conclusion. Mark was pointing to the upper levels and it was in complete silence that the four men made their way towards the stairs. Harry was careful where he stood; the floor _was_ covered in debris and it occurred to him that the inhabitants of this place were behaving true to form; they contaminated wherever they went and he suppressed a shiver when he realised just how close to living like these people he had come.

He kept his wand held at the ready and was pleased to see that Tom did likewise. Just as he neared the stairs he heard Tom suddenly hiss and when he turned to his friend he saw him look towards the others in horror. Turning to where Tom was looking, he was initially confused until – with a feeling of dread he watched Blaise – who had been attempting to navigate through a small gap between a table and a wine cabinet - suddenly stumble and crash into the cabinet. For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, the cabinet teetered before finally toppling with a crash that echoed throughout the entire building.

The four men shared a look before Harry regained his wits and sprung into action. Knowing that the noise had been loud enough to wake the dead, he sprang towards the staircase fully aware that all further attempts at silence were pointless. He charged up the stairs, vaguely aware that Tom and Mark were right behind him and when he reached the top some instinct – almost like a sixth sense – told him to duck and as he threw himself to the floor he felt rather that saw a jet of purple light flash past his cheek in the space where moments before his head had been placed. He rolled behind a cabinet and glanced over with relief when he realised that Tom and Mark had both safely made it into cover.

He heard Blaise finally make his way to the top of the stairs and watched in horror as another streak of purple light flew past the ear of the former Slytherin and he watched as Zabini flung himself to the ground, his hands over his head for all the good they would do.

Harry felt the anger rise within him. He recognised the spell – remembered all too clearly the damage it could do and was fully aware of who was responsible for casting it.`

_Dolohov._

He glanced out from behind the cabinet in order to size up the position. This level of the building was obviously the sleeping quarters of the four outlaws and as he tried to locate the position of them he felt a feeling of hopelessness overwhelm him. This floor was even more cluttered that the one below and the numerous objects and items of furniture provided a myriad of hiding places from which the Deatheaters could attack them with impunity. He noticed too that there were even more staircases that led to upper levels and he realised that they did not have enough men to cover the entire building. He knew that others were approaching from the rear but the sheer size of the building meant that it would take time for them to get here. He also suspected that there were no other stairs up to this level – it was a bottleneck.

'Dolohov!' he shouted. 'Dolohov! Give yourself up! It's pointless to resist; we have the building surrounded! Give yourselves up – all of you!'

He didn't expect them to meekly submit to his demand; rather he was hoping that they might reveal their positions and it was with no small feeling of satisfaction that he heard mocking laughter coming from the four targets. He glanced across to Tom, Mark and Blaise – who had finally made it to the upper floor he saw - and pointed towards the right where at least some of the noise had come from. It would appear that the Deatheaters had split up.

'Potter?' came a voice and Harry recognised it immediately. 'Potter? Is that you?' asked Antonin Dolohov and Harry recognised the mockery in the voice. 'My friends!' Dolohov continued, 'We are honoured! The Ministry has sent the "Chosen One" to capture us!' More mocking laughter could be heard from the others but Harry didn't mind; in fact he was delighted as the idiots had fully revealed their positions now. He decided to keep Dolohov talking.

'It's me,' he replied. 'Come to take you in, Dolohov. Come to put you back where you belong.'

More laughter, but Harry ignored it. Instead he scanned the area where he knew the man to be hiding and as his eyes alighted on a large bookcase on the far wall directly behind the spot where he knew Dolohov to be, he had a sudden idea. Turning round, he noticed that Tom and the others were similarly eyeing their surroundings and drawing the same conclusions as he was. He raised his eyebrow questioningly and was pleased to note that Tom and Mark at least had understood what to do. He turned back to the source of the voice.

'This is your last chance! All of you! We can do this without bloodshed or we can do it the hard way. Believe me when I say that it will not be our blood that is shed if you decide to do it the hard way!'

More mocking laughter and catcalls from the enemy – Harry had expected nothing less. He just wanted them distracted.

'Come and get us if you dare, Potter,' mocked Dolohov. 'You might find us a tough nut to...'

The Deatheater stopped talking abruptly. Stopped because Harry had moved with the speed of a snake.

'Accio bookcase!' he screamed as he leapt to his feet and watched with a feeling of satisfaction as the bookcase hurtled towards him. It did not reach him; it _could_ not reach him because Harry had known that the path was blocked by too many other objects – objects that included Antonin Dolohov.

Harry dashed from his cover, throwing objects with his wand as he did so towards the spot where he believed Dolohov to be. He noticed that his colleagues were doing likewise; that Tom, Mark and Blaise were hurling everything they could towards the enemy as they broke from their positions and raced towards them. Harry arrived at what was now a massive pile of broken and displaced furniture and quickly banished several objects in order to obtain a clear shot. To his consternation, Dolohov was nowhere to be seen and – almost as if his legs were working faster than his brain – he flung himself flat to the floor just as another jet of light flew over his head. This one had come from his right; somehow Dolohov had wriggled free. He noticed Crabbe break from his position and head down a corridor that led to the back of the building. Turning to his right he finally spotted Dolohov as he too made a break for it; sprinting for all he was worth along a passage that led east. He turned to Tom and they communicated silently, both knowing what was needed to be done. Harry turned and sped after Dolohov knowing that he could leave Crabbe to his partner. He had to assume that Blaise and Mark could deal with the Carrows. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed with relief that James Williamson and his partner had finally arrived but he had no more time to think on this as he hurtled in hot pursuit after Dolohov.

He had travelled for nearly fifty yards when he arrived at yet another staircase. Looking down the passage he could see no sign of his foe and decided that the man must have gone up. Tentatively, he placed his foot on the first stair, his eyes scanning ahead for ambush. Keeping his head down, he climbed to the top as quickly as his crouched position would allow him. Arriving at the top step, he backed himself against the wall and cautiously peered around the corner.

_Shit._

This part of the building was still in a state of disrepair. It was immediately obvious that this floor hadn't been used by the new lodgers as the vast space was still filled with old boxes and crates – a million potential hiding places for Dolohov. He had no idea where his enemy could be hiding; all he knew that the man had to be in here somewhere.

'This is pointless, Dolohov. There is no way out; just give yourself up!'

'There is always a way out, Potter,' sneered Dolohov and Harry fixed his position somewhere to the left. He was surprised the man had spoken; he must have known that he would be revealing his position.

'Not this time,' he eventually replied. 'You're going back to Azkaban for what you have done, you bastard. There is no way out,' he repeated.

'I'm not going back to that bloody prison, Potter. I'll die before I go back there. I'll take you with me before I go though. You have lived long enough, I think.'

Harry glanced around the room, looking for suitable cover. 'You could have killed me last year,' he shouted. 'You could have got me the day you killed Ron Weasley. I was a sitting duck, Dolohov. I know you were watching; I know you saw me pass out!'

This seemed to surprise the man for no immediate answer was forthcoming so Harry decided to take a chance and made a dash towards some old crates that were stacked about fifteen yards in front of him. He dived to the floor as he reached them and let out a sigh of relief that Dolohov hadn't had the wit to fire at him in time. The spell – when it came – flashed past a good five feet behind him.

'I could have killed you that day. I could have crushed you like a worm, Potter.'

'So why didn't you?' asked Harry. 'Losing your touch, Antonin? Not got the balls for it anymore now you no longer have your master to hide behind?' he taunted. A sudden blast could be heard from below and Harry prayed that his friends were gaining the upper hand in their own battle.

To his surprise, Dolohov started to laugh. 'I had the balls to kill your friend, didn't I? We got Weasley, didn't we? I wanted to finish you off but was told not to.'

This jolted Harry, who had been trying to work out a way to get closer.

'So it _was_ Ron you were after?' he asked, feeling sick. But that didn't make sense, he realised. _I might have been the one to go in first._

Dolohov laughed again. 'Not quite, Potter. We wanted both of you. The decision to let you live was taken after we realised you had survived.'

This made no sense at all to Harry and he allowed himself to be distracted as he pondered on this. He was brought immediately back to his senses however as a sudden _Reductor_ curse was blasted against the crates he was sheltering behind. He scampered to his right as the debris came crashing down, only just avoiding a second curse that was fired directly at him. He crouched low, his wand at the ready as he gasped for breath.

'Why?' he suddenly shouted, desperate to know. 'Why did you let me live?'

'Because there are worse things than dying, Potter. Because we thought it would be more amusing to destroy you. Killing you would be too quick. Besides; the Dark Lord killed you and look what good that did him. We wanted you to suffer, Potter, and you did suffer, didn't you? It hurts still, doesn't it? Weasley's death still eats away at you like a cancer.'

_Yes, it does_, thought Harry, although he would never admit it to this man. He turned at a sudden noise behind him and spotted Tom Proudfoot on the stairs below. Tom gave him the thumbs up sign and Harry assumed that his friend had successfully captured Crabbe. He smiled and was about to signal his intentions when Dolohov spoke again.

'The Mudblood not with you, Potter?' and there was something in the tone of the question that froze Harry's heart. He blinked rapidly, trying to remain calm and trying to ignore the implications of the question.

'No,' he finally managed. 'She didn't want the dubious pleasure of your company,' he added.

Dolohov laughed. 'She didn't fare too well last time in the Ministry, did she? I'm glad she's not here; we have made special arrangements for _her_. She'll not do to well in the Ministry today either. She'll soon be joining Weasley,' he added. 'And once I deal with you, we'll have completed the set.'

_He's bluffing_, thought Harry. _He must be bluffing_. 'You're all here, Dolohov. You can't get near her. Besides; she won't be at the Ministry this morning.'

'You just keep telling yourself that, Potter – it will make it harder for you when the blow falls. It won't be long now; hopefully you will receive word soon. In fact, I hope you live long enough to discover her fate. I told you; we don't just want to kill you – we want you to beg for death. You don't have to _Crucio_ someone to torture them, do you, Potter? Killing the Mudblood ought to achieve this, I think. You see; we know how much you depend on her. How much she means to you, Potter.'

Harry couldn't breathe; he couldn't function as the prospect of his worst nightmare flashed before his eyes.

_Oh, God. Hermione. _

Harry felt a surge of rage burst within him such as he'd never experienced before. He lost all sense of proportion; all feelings of civilisation. He roared as he suddenly burst forth from his cover and sent spell after spell in the direction of Dolohov. He moved as a blur; a whirlwind of pent up rage and frustration that blasted anything and everything as he approached his enemy. Dolohov was sent flying through the air, a stunned expression on his face as Harry continued casting; continued screaming his anger. Tom Proudfoot moved to follow but was himself thrown back by the debris that Harry was blasting everywhere.

'You bastard!' he screamed. 'I'll kill you, you bastard,' and the words came out as a screech. He closed in on his adversary; closed in on the man who threatened Hermione and his face told Antonin Dolohov its own story. The Deatheater knew that Potter was going to kill him; knew that his time was up. He did the only thing that could gain some retribution this day, even though it meant his own death.

'_Everto Pyrus!_' he shouted and a burst of flame shot forth from his wand. Because of his heightened sense of anger, it took a moment for Harry to realise what Dolohov had just cast but when the first of the abnormal sized flames began to set alight everything around them he suddenly knew with certainty what had been done.

_Fiendfyre_.

He tried to back away from the flames towards the stairs but realised that he was cut off; that there was no way through to where Tom was standing.

'Get out of here!' he screamed at his friend and saw that Tom – after a moment of hesitation – turned and fled down the stairs before he was incinerated. Harry turned back to Dolohov and realised that the two of them were trapped; that they were standing in the middle of an ever decreasing circle of flame.

Harry was aware that some of the flames were spreading outwards; that the mutating tongues of fire were setting about destroying the entire building. He looked at Dolohov and saw only madness in his eyes; a madness that proclaimed that he did not care about the fiery death that awaited him. Harry ignored him, instead turning and seeking an escape route. The flames surged after him, closing the ring in a myriad of serpents and dragons all hell bent on burning him alive. He heard a scream and spun quickly to witness the dying agonies on Antonin Dolohov as the flames consumed him utterly. Gasping for breath, he felt like his lungs were on fire as the roaring inferno sucked all of the oxygen out of the air. He crashed to the floor and tried to Apparate but cursed as he realised that the wards must still be up.

He smelled his hair beginning to singe as the flames greedily closed for the kill; his clothes were beginning to smoke and his skin was starting to burn. He uselessly placed his hands over his head as if somehow hoping to thwart the roaring death that neared him and his last thoughts were of Hermione.

_Please, God Dolohov was bluffing. Please, God she's OK_.

Although almost bereft of oxygen, the thought of her made him summon his last reserves of will power and he tried one final attempt at Apparition before the fire claimed him. He felt a sudden, searing heat threaten to engulf him before everything went black...

'Is he breathing?' came a voice he did not recognise. 'Is he alive?'

Harry groaned and tried to open his eyes but found that they were sticking together such was the lack of moisture in his system. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a low croak. His tongue felt like sandpaper.

'Quick! Fetch some water!' A few seconds passed in which Harry tried to get his bearings but he could not see where he was. He felt as dry as the desert and it was with some relief that he felt a flask placed to his lips. He forced himself to sit up and took a long, deep drink of the refreshing water. It was slightly stagnant and warm but to Harry it tasted as if it had just been drawn from a cold highland stream. 'More,' he gasped as the flask soon emptied. He felt another flask thrust into his hand and after taking another long pull he poured the remainder over his head and into his eyes. After a few seconds he found that he was able to see again and he immediately took in his position. He was sitting on the floor in the Atrium of the Ministry and was surrounded by a number of concerned faces. His clothes were still smoking from the flames and he could feel pain all over his body from the searing heat. He staggered to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd as he made his way over to the fountain before immersing himself fully into it. It occurred to him that this is where the drinking water must have come from.

When he surfaced he felt a bit more human and he began to try to take in his situation. He pointedly ignored the various questions that were being directed at him; instead becoming aware of a relentless siren blaring in the background. It was then that he remembered.

_Hermione._

Struggling out of the fountain; he barged past the concerned onlookers and staggered as fast as he could towards the elevators. After what seemed like an age, he arrived on the floor where Hermione's office was situated. He noticed that there was a great commotion; that the air was thick with dust and that numerous people were dashing hither and thither in a panic. He shook his head to clear it and – reeling like a drunk – he made his way towards the source of the bedlam; Hermione's office.

When he arrived he felt the despair rise and threaten to overwhelm him. The door to the office had been blasted out; indeed, the entire office had been blown to bits, the only evidence that it had existed being the smashed door lintels that hung from the ceiling; tethered despite the fact that the surrounding walls had been blasted into atoms. He turned away and felt the bile begin to rise in his throat as his eyes alighted on what was clearly the stump of a human leg; judging by the footwear a female leg that had been completely detached from the rest of the body. There was no sign of the rest of the remains.

He fell to his knees, oblivious of the tears that were streaming down his face. He felt as if his heart had stopped beating in his chest; felt like the very walls around him were closing in to crush him.

_Oh, God; Hermione. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Oh, my darling. My beautiful darling, Hermione._

He leaned forwards and placing his hands to his face, began to sob uncontrollably. He couldn't function; could only rock back and forth as he uttered her name over and over. He was oblivious to his surroundings; oblivious of the hands that tried to console him, of the people that dashed all around him, of a colleague from the Auror office frantically barking information into a hand held mirror. Finally he could take no more.

'HERMIONE!' he screamed and his lungs cried out their own protest at their treatment.

'HARRY!' he heard and he decided that fate was playing one last, cruel trick on him; that he was suffering from delusions such was his state of shock and pain.

'HARRY!' he heard again and it sounded so real. He looked up and nearly collapsed. There she was; _Hermione_.

She was running towards him, her hair unbound and flying behind her; her face streaked with tears. Her eyes were wide and her expression was a mixture of joy, relief and amazement. He couldn't move; couldn't react to this new reality. Instead, he remained on his knees and watched almost as if in a dream as she finally reached him and slid to the floor on her knees, crashing into him and gripping him so tight that he thought he was going to suffocate.

'Thank God; oh, thank God,' she murmured as she buried her face into his neck.

It was almost too much for him. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his head on top of hers and great, racking sobs poured forth as he clung to her as if his life depended on it. His arms ran up and down her back seeking reassurance that she was real; that she was here in his arms and that this wasn't some final, sadistic trick to mock and torment him. He realised that she too was sobbing and he finally leaned back to see her.

'I thought you were dead,' he whispered as he looked into her eyes. 'Dolohov told me you were dead. When I saw your office...' He couldn't finish; couldn't utter the deepest fear of his heart. Instead, he tried to wipe her tears with his thumbs but succeeded only in smearing sooty streaks across her cheeks.

She shook her head. 'I'm here, Harry.' She took his hand and placed it on her breast and he could feel her heart beating with his fingers. 'I'm here and I'm not going to leave you; not ever again,' she continued. He felt himself losing himself in her hazel eyes; felt himself becoming submerged in her.

'I saw the fire,' she said, without moving his hand. 'I thought you were gone too. Thought you were gone before I'd had the chance to tell you that I love you too. That I've always loved you too.' Her eyes were still moist but she ignored her tears.

What Harry felt swelling within his breast at these words was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Not the first surge of magic; not his first ride on a broom or his initial ecstasy at defeating Voldemort came close to the surge of joy that permeated his being at these words. He felt more tears run down his face but this time they were tears of joy; tears that flowed because he finally had achieved the desire of his heart; had finally found shelter in a world that had repeatedly tried to destroy him. He leaned his head towards her and their lips collided – finally collided with nothing between them; no secrets, no lies coming between them.

He was not aware of anything but Hermione; her scent, her breath, the taste of salt from her tears as he probed tenderly with his tongue. He had no idea how long they embraced; how long they clung to each other as they confirmed their love, oblivious to their surroundings and to the onlookers who watched in bemusement as they embraced surrounded by destruction and gore, kneeling together in a sopping puddle of water that streamed from his clothes. When they finally broke apart, they stared at one another, both scarcely believing the turn of events that had led them to this point. He smiled and felt his heart swell in his breast as she returned the gesture and he was struck once again at how she was without doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes upon.

_That smile is for me._

'Thank Merlin' came a voice and Harry dragged his eyes away from Hermione to look up to the relieved face of Kingsley who stood with a posse of Aurors and who now regarded the two of them with something like amusement.

'I'll say this for you, Harry; you've certainly got style,' added Kingsley and despite the situation, both Harry and Hermione laughed at his words. They laughed from relief at having survived and joy for having finally found one another. The rest of the onlookers laughed too.

'We didn't know if you had got out,' added Kingsley and this time his face betrayed the worry that had been plaguing him. 'I got word that there had been an explosion at the Ministry. You can imagine my shock when I was told that you had staggered in too.' He turned to the destruction and noticed the severed leg on the floor, his mind immediately taking in the situation.

'You thought that was Hermione?' he asked and Harry shivered at the question. He nodded.

'Do we know who it is?' asked Kingsley.

'I...I think it is Claire, my secretary,' replied Hermione in a small voice and Harry gripped her close as she tried to come to terms with the fact that a friend had died in her place.

A flash of pain passed on Kingsley's face for a moment and Harry suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for this man who was trying his best to deal with a world that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

'Did we catch any of them?' he asked suddenly, knowing that Kingsley would know what he meant.

Kingsley shook his head. 'Not alive,' he said brutally. 'Crabbe and the Carrows are dead. What of Dolohov?' he asked.

'Dead,' replied Harry and he felt Hermione tighten her grip on him in return. 'It was Dolohov who started the fire – _Fiendfyre_,' he added. 'He was killed by his own spell.' It suddenly occurred to him that they had been stymied again in their case. _Dead men told no tales_. Something else occurred to him too. 'You have to accept now that this case is bigger than Malfoy, Kingsley.'

Kingsley nodded soberly and watched as Harry struggled to get to his feet. He noticed that Hermione had to help him; that he was swaying as he stood and that he was grimacing in pain from his burns.

'Take him home, Hermione,' he ordered. He noticed Harry move to protest but cut him off before he could speak. 'You are of no use to me in this condition, Harry. Go home; get yourself squared up and come back and see me when you are ready.' He gestured with his arm to the destruction around him. 'We will be a while dealing with all of this. I'm going to bring in Willie Widdershins and I have a few other things to sort out. I'll be reviewing the raid later too; I want to know what went wrong,' he said and there was a hint of steel in his voice. 'You are not needed right now; go home. Let Hermione take care of you,' he added with a smile and Harry decided not to protest. Instead, he turned to Hermione, his eyes a question.

She nodded. 'Let's go home, Harry,' she whispered and Harry was struck by the hint of promise in her eyes.

'Home,' he repeated softly, aware that for the first time in his life he had a home to go to.


	21. Consummation

**Consummation**

Harry and Hermione arrived with a soft _pop _in the living room of her apartment and Harry felt the sudden need to lean heavily against her in order to stay upright. He was still feeling a bit woozy from his exertions and when he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece he was astonished to realise that it was not yet eight in the morning. So much had happened in the past few hours that he felt a sense of amazement that it was not much later in the day.

He managed to right himself and allowed Hermione to lead him into his room where he promptly crashed down onto the soft mattress on his bed. She eyed him solemnly for a moment, clearly deciding what had to be done. This was a Hermione he knew well; the Hermione that evaluated a problem and quickly offered a solution.

'Start getting stripped,' she began 'and I'll fetch you some towels. Your clothes are soaking, Harry. What did you do? Jump in the fountain or something?'

He flushed scarlet and her eyes widened. 'You did jump in the fountain?' she asked incredulously.

He nodded. 'I needed to cool off; I was still smouldering from the fire and it seemed the sensible thing to do. There was no other water around.'

She looked at him with a serious expression for a few moments and her eyes told him that she was not fully recovered from the shocks she'd had to deal with in the past twelve hours. He was worried about her; was trying to think of something to say to help when she surprised him by suddenly starting to laugh.

'Oh, Harry. The things you have to do,' she said, shaking her head and he could almost detect a hint of hysteria in her voice. Then her expression changed again to one of determination.

'Now; come on – we need to get those wet clothes off.' She bit her lip. 'Here; let me help you,' she added as she leaned in towards him. She began to help him slip out of his sodden clothes. He raised his arms and allowed her to peel up his top and pull it over his head. He winced as the cloth abraded his side and he saw a quick flash of concern in her eyes. She tenderly stroked the afflicted spot and he tried his best not to react when her fingers brushed against his skin. A small smile flashed on her face and he was acutely aware that he was fooling no one as he turned to face her.

And the rest of them,' she said as she stood up. 'I'll go and fetch you some towels,' she added, turning and heading for the bathroom. He just sat there, bare-chested and feeling distinctly nonplussed by this turn of events. He examined himself and realised that he had actually escaped pretty lightly. His hands and wrists were red but did not seem to be too badly scorched. He noticed a few red marks where the flames had burnt through his robes but he decided that things could have been a lot worse.

'I said take off the rest of them too,' said Hermione as she returned a few minutes later with a pile of soft towels in one hand; a goblet in the other. He thought she seemed a bit awkward; that her business like demeanour was a bit forced. It occurred to him that the fire and the explosion were not all they had to deal with at the moment.

'Drink this,' she said. 'It's a painkilling potion and should alleviate the pain. I'll be back in a minute once I get changed,' she added, regarding her own dishevelled appearance. 'Besides; I think I might have something to help with your burns.' She turned after saying this and headed towards her bedroom. 'I'll be back in a minute; take the rest of your clothes off,' she ordered.

Harry smiled to himself thinking that he would prefer to hear those words come from her mouth under different circumstances. He did as bidden though and managed remove the remainder of his clothes without causing himself too much discomfort. He wrapped a towel round his waist and began to dry himself off before settling back down on the bed.

He took a long drink of the potion and settled back, enjoying the sensation of the cold pillow against his tender skin. He realised that he was still feeling quite groggy from the events of the morning and he was also aware that he too was still reeling somewhat from the double blow of Dolohov's attack and his subsequent belief that Hermione had been killed at the Ministry. He closed his eyes and willed that last thought away. Even though she was safe in the next room at the moment he knew that he would never forget the feelings of grief and despair he'd had before Hermione had arrived like a vision to claim him. It was something he was trying not to dwell on but he suspected that he might suffer nightmares about that moment for some time to come. He could not remember a single moment in his life when he had felt worse. Not when Sirius or Dumbledore – or even Ron – had been killed had he felt as bad. Even the fear he'd experienced when walking to face Voldemort paled into insignificance when compared to how he had felt when he'd thought she was dead. _I wanted to die too_, he realised. _I couldn't function; couldn't live. I didn't want to live; not after that_. He closed his eyes and it was with considerable effort that he shook himself free of such thoughts and contemplated what had happened afterwards.

They had hardly said a word to each other after Kingsley had suggested they go home. They had staggered – he had been leaning heavily on her – to the Atrium where Hermione had Apparated them both to the apartment. He smiled as he remembered their brief journey through the Ministry corridors. All eyes had been on them as they clung to each other as if fearing that the other might somehow disappear if they lost contact. Word of events and of their embrace must have spread quickly for there had been quite a large audience to witness their departure from the Atrium. Of course; he was aware that he always had been big news; perhaps the sight of a blackened, tear stained Harry Potter on the arm of Hermione Granger was enough of a spectacle to satisfy even the most ardent gossip monger.

He considered what had happened outside her office and his grin broadened. _She loves me!_ He still could hardly believe the truth of this; still half expected to wake up and discover that the events of the morning had been some kind of twisted dream. He recalled her words; _'I thought you were gone too. Thought you were gone before I'd had the chance to tell you that I love you too. That I've always loved you too.' _He recalled too the moment she had placed his hand on her heart to confirm that it was real; that _she _was real and that it was not the wanderings of his mind that were deluding him.

He took another long pull from the goblet and allowed himself to sink further into the bed. It was no surprise that they were behaving a little bit coy towards one another; what they had shared earlier had fundamentally altered the dynamic of their relationship. _Well, after thirteen years of close friendship, a mutual declaration of love was bound to need bit of time to be processed,_ he mused. He felt his eyes growing heavy and forced himself to sit up a little. _It wouldn't do to doze off. I need to talk to Hermione…_

Hermione re-entered the room a few minutes later wearing a green silk dressing gown and carrying a small pot of soothing lotion. Her eyes widened as they took in his semi-naked form on the bed but then her features softened and she smiled as she realised that he had fallen asleep. _No wonder_, she thought. _He's been awake for over twenty four hours; he must be knackered. I am too._

She placed the pot on the dresser and regarded him thoughtfully, sitting down on the bed next to him as she did so. She gently stroked his hair as she looked down on him and she found herself drawing comfort merely by touching him. She remembered her panic and despair in the Ministry after hearing Kingsley's desperate words through the mirror. _I thought you'd died, Harry,_ and she shuddered. She'd been so caught up in her own torment that she had not registered the moment when the building had shook around her. It was only when the sirens started to go off; only when she became aware of people running to and fro that she realised something serious had happened nearby too. After sitting in place for a few minutes she'd forced herself to go and investigate and it had been with a sense of foreboding that she'd realised that the source of the commotion seemed to be coming from the direction of her office.

Then she'd heard him scream her name. She closed her eyes as she remembered the anguish and despair in his voice. She'd hardly recognised it as Harry's; had barely been able to associate that primal howl with the man lying asleep next to her now. But then she'd seen him and the tightness around her heart had released. He'd looked desperate; he'd been smoke-blackened and soaking wet and clearly in pain but she had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life.

_He was alive._

She'd had to hold him; to touch him to convince herself that he was safe. And she'd had to tell him too; she'd had to make sure he knew she loved him. His expression when she said this would always remain with her, she knew. His despair had immediately turned to joy and she was aware that she would never need to doubt his feelings for her. His agony at the thought of her death and his euphoria at hearing of her love for him were all the proof she would ever need.

She sighed, realising that she was dog-tired too and made a decision as she looked upon his sleeping face. She gently removed his glasses and placed them on the dresser before summoning a blanket from her own room and tenderly placed it over him. Standing straight, she hesitated for a moment before untying her dressing gown and letting it fall softly to the floor, the silk caressing her naked form as it did so. She stepped over the robe and peeled the blanket back before slipping into the bed next to him. As an afterthought, she gently removed the towel from around his waist and dropped it out of the bed. She stretched one arm across him and placed her head on his chest before closing her eyes. She realised as the tiredness closed in that she felt as safe lying with Harry as she ever had in her life, despite what had happened earlier. She smiled at this thought before finally allowing the sleep to claim her.

Harry woke from his slumber and was immediately aware of a presence in the bed next to him. He glanced down and could just about make out the peaceful, sleeping face of Hermione as she lay against his chest. God_; she is beautiful,_ he thought to himself. He took a few moments to gaze upon her; on the curve of her neck; on her long brown hair that cascaded across her bare shoulder...

_Her bare shoulder._

He suddenly realised that it was not just her shoulder that was bare; that she was naked in the bed next to him and that he wasn't wearing anything either. He could feel her firm, round breasts press against him; was aware that one of her long slender legs draped across his own and he took a few moments to enjoy the pleasure of having her so close. He gave her a soft squeeze and was rewarded when her eyes fluttered open and he could see her taking a few seconds to orientate herself with her surroundings. Finally she looked up to face him.

'Hi,' he whispered.

She smiled and his heart lifted to see it. 'Hi, yourself,' she replied.

'How long have you been here?' he asked gently. She seemed to consider the question.

'I don't know,' she finally replied. 'I don't know what the time is now.' She turned over a bit so that she was lying on top of him and Harry felt the first elements of his self-control begin to desert him. 'I've been here since you nodded off,' she continued. 'I realised that I was tired too so I thought I would join you.' She leaned back a bit after saying this and stretched herself out like a cat. Harry's eyes widened at the sight; widened at her supple, lithe body in all its glory. Hermione relaxed again and turned to look at him and he realised that she had an extremely mischievous look on her face. This was a side to her he had never seen before and he found it incredibly sexy.

'How are you feeling?' she asked

'Fine, I think,' he replied.

'You went through a lot today,' she said as she began to run her fingers softly across the red marks on his chest. 'I suppose I should try my best not to excite or agitate you.'

He smiled. 'You aren't very good at that, you know. Your best isn't very good when it comes to that.'

She flushed at his complement but leaned up towards him. They paused just inches from each other before gently moving together into the kiss. At first it was almost delicate and elusive but he soon moved past this initial stage. He gently explored her lips before probing with his tongue and tracing across the roof of her mouth and under her tongue. He felt the need rising within him but was surprised when Hermione suddenly pushed him softly back with her hands before beginning to gently kiss across his face. She found his ear, breathed her warm breath into it then nibbled the lobe before gently caressing his jaw with her tongue and began to kiss at his throat. He had never felt anything like it; the light, delicate touch from her soft lips seared through him and he knew that she would be aware of his pleasure from the hardening below. Her fingers traced across his chest and down his side as she continued working her way down his neck with her lips and reaching his chest. She took one of his nipples in her mouth and flicked her tongue over it and it was almost an exquisite agony for him as his entire body reacted to the stimulation. She did the same with the other nipple for some time before dropping even lower; casting long, sensual kisses across his navel and beyond. He was gasping and realised that she too was breathing hard but had no time to consider this as he suddenly experienced a moist warmth enclose the end of his throbbing cock. She explored the smooth head with her mouth, circling his shape with her tongue and probing gently along the base of his tip. He groaned, barely able to contain himself and when she moved lower, almost as if trying to discover how much of his length she could take it took all of his willpower not to let go there and then. Her tongue moved faster and he felt the pleasure from the suction spread across his entire body.

'Jesus, Hermione,' he managed to gasp and this seemed to serve as an encouragement to her as she picked up the pace until he found himself rising to meet her. He could take no more of this and managed to grab her head in both hands; managed to stop her before he released too early. He noticed that her face was flushed; that she too was losing control and he leant forward, taking charge as he gently pushed her onto her back.

He caressed the side of her body, feeling the smooth curve of her hip as he leaned in and gently ran his tongue down her neck towards her breasts. He kissed and caressed every inch of flesh he could find and his hand moved and felt the fullness of her breast for a moment before he cupped it gently and placed her nipple in his mouth. He was aware that she was writhing; that her eyes were closed and that she had a look of rapture on her face that he knew only came with extreme pleasure. She let out a low moan as he traced little circles with his tongue before gently nibbling at her nipple. His hand matched his tongues movement on her other breast and her nipples were hard and erect as he increased the pressure with his mouth, taking in as much of her as he could. She was breathing hard now, her back arching in ecstasy.

His hand lowered, caressing her stomach, her hip and her leg. He reached for her inner thigh and she spread her legs to allow him access and as he cupped her mound he felt delightful, damp heat. He lowered his head, his tongue still tracing circles as he slowly worked his way across her stomach and her navel. By the time he arrived between her legs she was breathing in short, sharp gasps and when his tongue found her clit she grabbed his hair and let out a low moan of pleasure. His tongue explored every fold and by now she was bucking her hips and panting heavily and he tasted a new wetness as she shuddered violently.

'Oh, God, Harry,' she gasped. 'I want…' she never finished, instead letting out another low moan of pleasure.

Knowing what she wanted, he lifted his head and moved over her and as she arched to receive him he entered her gently until she embraced him fully. He drew back and began a slow, steady rhythm and she drew her legs around him to pull him deeper into her. He felt the pressure building and picked up the pace knowing that he could not last much longer but not caring for he knew too that she was reaching her own climax. He thrust again and again and realised that Hermione was in complete rapture; that she had raised up every taut muscle to receive him and he surged harder, revelling in the pleasure of the moment. Finally he could take no more and as they strained together she cried his name and waves of unimaginable pleasure surged through them both as he filled her and - with exquisite relief - he collapsed on top of her.

For a seemingly interminable length of time only their breathing could be heard. Neither could move for both had given completely to the other. He didn't want to move; didn't want to break the contact and end the moment. He gazed on her and could tell by her expression that he had pleased her. He fought for breath and marvelled at what they had just shared. He was no stranger to sex but he had never – ever – experienced anything as intense as this.

He smiled. 'Bloody hell,' he finally managed. To his delight, she laughed at his senseless comment. 'You are amazing,' he added, still breathing hard. 'That was...that was incredible. You were incredible.'

She didn't reply; instead she tightened her grip on him with her legs and buried her head between his head and shoulder. He was content to let her do this; content to lie with her and feel her lithe form pressed against him.

They remained like that for some time, neither speaking until by unspoken agreement, he finally rolled off of her on to his back and gathered her in so that her head was once again on his chest.

'Do you have any idea how long I have wanted to do that?' he asked, shyly.

She smiled at the question. 'A fair idea, Harry,' she replied. She looked mischievous again. 'Was I worth the wait?' she asked tartly.

He gave her a soft squeeze. 'More than you'll ever know.' He paused. 'I meant everything I said to you last night,' he said quietly.

She became serious. 'I know, Harry. And I hope you know I was speaking the truth this morning. It has taken us long enough to get here; let's not dwell on the past.' She smiled, remembering the advice she received from her mum. 'We have a future now.'

He smiled at this remark; smiled because he finally realised the truth of her words; finally understood that he had achieved what he had been seeking since he was a teenager.

_We have a future now._

Thirty minutes later after having showered and changed, Harry sat on Hermione's sofa and waited for her to get ready. He was still in state of exhilaration; still scarcely believing the fundamental change in his relationship with Hermione. What they had just shared together was like nothing he'd ever experienced and whilst it seemed almost blasphemous to compare, he knew that he and Ginny had never reached such heights when they had been together. He hadn't known that it could be that good.

He glanced at the clock – _three thirty_. They had been asleep for nearly six hours and he was feeling much better for it. Off course, right now he had never felt better in his entire life and he was well aware that this was nothing to do with enjoying a good kip. He smiled at the thought and realised that he'd been doing that a lot today. If he wasn't careful, his face might freeze permanently into a goofy grin.

Casting his eyes around the room, he noticed an envelope on the table and – curious – he stood and lifted it, turning it over to see what it was.

_Miss Hermione Granger._

He turned as Hermione entered the room and bestowed _the smile_ on him and he knew with certainty that he would never – ever – tire of seeing that. He smiled in return and then held up the envelope, a questioning look upon his face.

She frowned. 'I had forgotten about that,' she began. 'I came back here looking for you last night and found it on the floor. I thought it might have been from you at first but I knew that wasn't your writing.'

'Why didn't you open it?' he asked, handing it to her.

She considered his question as she tore at the paper. 'I had more important things to deal with. I needed to see you,' she replied and there was an amused glint in her eye.

Harry grinned again as she turned her attention to the letter but it soon faded as he saw her expression darken and her hand begin to shake.

'Oh, God,' she murmured before crashing down on to the sofa. He moved quickly to join her, concern in his eyes but he stopped when she thrust the letter out for him to see. Confused, he took it from her and began to read.

_Miss Granger,_

_I am aware that you are assisting Mr Potter in attempting to clear Draco Malfoy's name. I have some information that may be of some use to you in achieving this. If you are interested then I advise you to meet me in your office first thing in the morning. I would suggest that the earlier you can make it the better as the Ministry will be quiet and I do wish to be discreet._

_A friend_

Harry felt his hands begin to shake as he read these words and when he looked up he could see tears in Hermione's eyes. He moved immediately to comfort her, wrapping her in a firm embrace.

'Poor Claire,' she sobbed. 'She always did like to start early. She walked right into it. That trap was meant for me.' She turned into his arms. 'If I hadn't been looking for you last night, I would have gone! _We_ would have gone!'

'But we didn't,' he replied, suppressing his own feelings of horror as he stroked her hair. 'We didn't go; there's no use dwelling on "ifs" Hermione.' He paused before continuing. 'I'm sorry about Claire; I really am. But all I can think is that I'm glad it was her and not you. I know that sounds terrible – that no one should have died this morning - but I will be grateful to her until my dying day that she walked in to that office instead of you.'

She sobbed quietly in his arms for a few moments before Harry sensed a change in her. She finally looked up at him, her eyes blazing. 'We're going to get the bastard responsible for this,' she said firmly and he had no doubt about her resolve to succeed.

'We are,' he replied softly and took another glance at the letter, suppressing a shudder as he considered just how close they had been to disaster. 'C'mon,' he said as he lifted her chin to look her in the eyes and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. 'We'd better let Kingsley see this. We're not going to catch anyone here.'

He was pleased to see a determined look on her face as she nodded at his words and he pulled her in to another embrace wondering just what he had done in his life to merit having such a woman love him.

After a few moments they stood and with a final nod, they Apparated back to the Ministry.


	22. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands; it had been a very long day. He glanced up at the clock on his office wall and noted with surprise that it was not yet four in the afternoon. He had some difficulty accepting this; enough had happened in the past twelve hours to fill an entire week. He'd been rushed off his feet all day and had been plagued with a never ending line of people with requests for orders and advice. The worst of it was that the clean up and investigations had barely started.

His first priority had been to sweep the entire building to ensure no other traps had been set for the unwary. Thankfully, this had not taken too long and he was pleased when the various teams had reported back the all clear. Whilst they had been doing this, he'd been supervising the clean up operation and delegating instructions to his subordinates. He'd called in Gawain Robards but had been disappointed when the man had appointed Dawlish to lead this latest investigation. Robards had pointed out that there was a chance that the attack on Hermione's office was linked to the Malfoy case and so the same team should work on both. While he had accepted the logic of this, he'd still been annoyed that Robards would trust someone as incompetent as Dawlish with such responsibility. He had made sure that Dawlish's first priority was to bring in Willie Widdershins though; sometimes he decided it was necessary to interfere.

He'd then called a meeting of all his departmental heads. This hadn't achieved very much but it had made him feel better to flex his ministerial muscles and exercise his power a little. After all, the Ministry had been subjected to a direct attack and he'd wanted to make sure that no stone was left unturned. Robards had attended and Mockridge had stood as proxy for Hermione. He'd also had the head of the Unspeakables called in and had surprised a few of the other heads by requesting that Arthur Weasley attend also. While Arthur was not a senior official, Kingsley valued his advice and it was revealing to note that he was the only person who showed both concern for Harry and Hermione and who also expressed sorrow at the death of Claire. It struck Kingsley as a little odd that no one else seemed to consider the human tragedy of the attack.

His thoughts turned once again to the _other_ attack of the day and he still felt the anger rise within him when he considered how close they had come to disaster. His initial inquiry into what went wrong had turned up one simple fact; Blaise Zabini had fucked up and in doing so had nearly cost the life of every Auror in that building. When he'd heard about the young fool knocking over a cabinet he'd wanted to smack him in the face there and then. In fact, the only reason he hadn't was because he'd had to prevent Mark Savage and Tom Proudfoot from doing the same thing. Both men had been livid and when Kingsley had head about the narrowness of the gap Blaise had tried to navigate, he too had lost his temper. He was also aware of the possibility that Blaise had acted deliberately in order to warn the targets and he remembered that Harry was convinced of a spy in the Auror ranks. It was for this reason that Blaise was currently under suspension – in fact, he was virtually under arrest.

Kingsley was also angry that all four Deatheaters had perished in the attack and knew that Harry was not particularly happy about this either. It was not that either of them had sympathy for the deceased; rather it was an annoyance that this particular lead was now at a dead end. Any useful information that could have been procured from the escapees was now gone for ever and Kingsley regretted this deeply. One thing was certain though; Harry had been correct – events _were_ much bigger than just Draco Malfoy.

His thoughts turned to Harry and to his feelings of horror when the flames had finally engulfed the building. Until he'd received word about the attack on the Ministry and the sudden appearance of Harry, he'd thought the young man dead and his feelings of grief from earlier were still prominent in his mind. When he'd arrived at the Ministry and had been confronted by a sobbing, injured Harry Potter in the arms of Hermione Granger the relief he'd felt had been overwhelming. His joy that Harry and Hermione had finally woken up to each other was a welcome bonus. He'd always known that Hermione was the key to Harry's recovery and now that they had finally found one another he reckoned that he might soon get the old Harry back. He hoped so anyway.

He was drawn out of his musings as Susan Bones rapped gently on his door.

'Kingsley? Rita Skeeter is still requesting an interview. She says that the official statement from this morning isn't good enough. What shall I tell her?'

Kingsley felt the anger rise in him again. That damn woman had been on his case all day and he'd had to have her physically removed from the building. It had not prevented a special edition of the Prophet being rushed out and as he glanced at the lurid headline on the front page of the copy lying on his desk he wished that for once he could ignore his own conscience and use his Ministerial prerogative to have her tossed into Azkaban on the charge of being a pain in the arse. The article described both the attack at the Ministry and the botched raid and now his own capabilities were being questioned by the media. _What shall I tell her? Tell her to fuck off and die._

He sighed and rolled his eyes. _If only I could say that._

'Tell her that I will speak to her later. Tell her that enquiries are continuing and that I will speak to her as soon as I have anything concrete to relate. You might also want to tell her that there is no point in idle speculation, but I suspect that you will be wasting your breath.' He realised that he was speaking harshly and he caught himself. 'I'm sorry, Susan; this isn't your fault. It's just been a long day. If you could pass that on to her, I'd be grateful.'

Susan smiled. 'No problem, boss. And there is no need to apologise.' She smiled. 'Just remember this next time I want a day off.'

Despite his mood, Kingsley smiled. 'Thanks Susan,' he replied to her retreating back, wondering how he would manage without her. He made to pick up the latest reports from the Aurors when he was interrupted again by a rap on his door. _What now?_

'Yes?' he called and found his mood changing completely when Harry and Hermione entered. Both looked a bit grim but he could sense a change in them that he knew had everything to do with what he had witnessed earlier. He also noticed that they were holding hands and he was amused at the shyness they were displaying as they tentatively approached. He was more pleased for them both than he would ever admit and he was glad to see that Hermione's "ministrations" had done the trick. He decided to have a little fun at their expense.

'Harry! Hermione! Great to see you both,' he began, rising to his feet and offering his hand. 'I must say, Harry; you are looking much better. Hermione must have looked after you well; maybe she could have a career as a nurse if she gets bored where she is?' To his delight he watched as the two of them flushed scarlet and he toyed whether to keep winding them up. 'So,' he continued, 'would you say Hermione has a particular talent in aiding a speedy recovery? Can I call on her if I ever need tender care? It might be worth getting myself injured just to find out how good she is.'

For a few moments Kingsley struggled to keep a straight face as Hermione blushed even redder and Harry looked at a loss for words. Finally the younger man smiled.

'Piss off, you dirty old man,' he finally replied and Kingsley laughed out loud at the response and after a few seconds Harry and Hermione laughed too. It seemed almost blasphemous to be laughing when so much had happened but he knew that sometimes that was all one could do in such circumstances. He also knew that that the old Harry was back; as little as a week ago he would never have spoken the way he just did.

_Hermione must be __**really**__ good_, he thought in amusement.

'Sit down, both of you,' he said and waited for them to get comfortable. He noticed that both still looked serious. 'What is it?' he asked, sensing immediately that something was wrong.

Harry never replied; instead he simply handed over the letter that had been delivered to Hermione's apartment and waited while Kingsley read it. He was glad that his friend had decided to wind him up – Kingsley was one of the few people that treated him as an ordinary person and he knew that there were not many others who would tease him about his love life – especially when the object of his affections was in the same room. Despite being the Minister, Kingsley was his friend and he knew that the events of the past week could not have been easy for him. He watched as the letter was finally placed on the desk.

'Bastards,' Kingsley whispered. He looked at Hermione and Harry could tell that he was sick at the thought of how close they had been to disaster.

'So they were specifically after you?' Kingsley asked Hermione. 'They sent you this in order to lure you into your office? We thought Harry might have been the target but this asked you to come alone. Why are they after you?' he asked.

'To destroy me,' replied Harry and he could see Kingsley start at the words. He noticed too that Hermione looked curious but then he hadn't told her yet what Dolohov had said earlier. 'During the raid,' he continued, 'I was talking to Dolohov to keep him distracted. He told me that Hermione was in danger. He told me that she would be at the Ministry this morning – it's obvious he knew about the letter.' He paused, letting this sink in. 'He also confirmed that Ron had been the target too; that it was him they were after.'

Kingsley frowned at this. 'But that doesn't make sense. It could have been you who decided to go in first that day. In fact; both of you might have decided to go in together – or indeed to stay well back.'

Harry's face twisted into a grim smile. 'Yeah; I said that to him. He told me that while they were after Ron they viewed getting me as a bonus. I also reckon that they knew enough about us to suspect that at least one of us would try to enter. We weren't exactly renowned for our patience.' He noticed Kingsley smile sadly at this observation.

'So why didn't they kill you when you passed out?' asked Hermione suddenly and Harry heard the horror in her voice. 'They were watching, weren't they? They could have killed you then,' she added.

Harry turned to her and took her hand and this time his smile was genuine. _Clever, clever witch_. 'I asked him that too. He confirmed that they were watching. He also said that it was decided to let me live; that it would be more enjoyable to destroy me without killing me. Murdering Ron nearly did destroy me and if they had got you today I would have been finished. That was the plan, you see. Kill everyone who matters to me and watch me fall apart. That's what Dolohov told me they had decided to do. I think when I buggered off I put a spanner in the works.'

He noticed that both Hermione and Kingsley looked appalled at this revelation.

'So this is all about you? Ron, Cho and Malfoy are really all about you?' asked Kingsley.

Harry shook his head. 'I don't think it's that simple, Kingsley. I think Cho did uncover something and I think she did tell Ron. I'm not sure why Malfoy is involved yet. I think I was just a bonus. Dolohov did say that the decision to let me live was taken _after_ Ron was killed.'

'Who decided?' asked Hermione quietly and Harry felt like he'd been slapped on the face. Glancing at Kingsley he could see that even he had not considered this.

'Who decided?' Hermione repeated. 'This isn't something that the Deatheaters would have come up with; this is too…sophisticated for them. Someone made the call; someone decided to torture you, Harry. Someone powerful enough to convince four Deatheaters not to kill you and someone who thought that killing me would finally destroy you.' She left this last observation hang in the air for a minute.

'They would have destroyed me,' Harry finally replied and his voice was barely a whisper. He shuddered. 'If they had succeeded this morning I wouldn't have been able to go on. You pulled me back after Ron died; how could I ever get over losing you?'

Kingsley watched the interaction between the two and knew the truth of Harry's words. His friend had come within a whisker of breaking down completely and he was well aware that if anything had happened to Hermione then Harry Potter would have been finished. Oh, he would be _alive_, but he would have been dead in every way that mattered. It would have been as if he had undergone the Dementor's kiss.

He also knew that Hermione had nailed something extremely important though. _Who decided?_

'This opens a number of possibilities,' he finally said and watched as the couple finally turned to face him. 'Hermione is correct; the Deatheaters would have killed you if it were up to them, Harry. Someone else is calling the shots here.' He leaned forward and picked up the letter. 'Any idea who sent this?' he asked.

Hermione shook her head 'No; I don't recognise the writing. But someone had to access the Ministry to lay the trap. It might be worth pursuing that line?'

Harry looked at her with affection, wondering why he continued to be surprised by her intelligence. She was not a law-enforcement officer and yet was thinking like one. 'You would have made a good Auror,' he said quietly.

Hermione flushed at the compliment but decided to stay on topic. 'So what do we do now?' asked Hermione.

'We try to find out who was near your office yesterday for a start. And while Kingsley has someone do that we have to talk to Blaise Zabini,' replied Harry. 'And Willie Widdershins. Do we have him yet?'

Kingsley nodded. 'Dawlish brought him in about an hour ago. He's in the cells downstairs. Blaise is being confined too though not in jail.'

'You heard what happened then?' asked Harry.

Kingsley nodded. 'I heard. He _could_ have just cocked up but…'

'Yeah,' interrupted Harry. '_But_. That's a word I've learned to hate. He could have been trying to warn them but how the hell do we prove that?' he paused for a moment, considering something. 'And I should add that when Blaise did reach the top of the stairs he nearly had his head taken off with a curse. There is no way Dolohov meant to miss him; he couldn't have judged it so fine. If Blaise was working with them then they obviously don't need him anymore.' He paused again as something else occurred to him. 'You said the other three died too. How? We wanted them alive.'

Kingsley grimaced. 'It was the fire; it spread too fast. I asked about that too, Harry. Mark said that the Carrows were trapped in the building – he and Blaise had managed to pin them under some furniture and stun them. They never had time to get them out, although they did try.'

'And Crabbe?'

'Tom got him easily enough. He stunned him and then bound him so he could go and help you with Dolohov. He never had the chance to go back for him once the fire started.'

Harry nodded. 'That's true enough; the flames spread too fast. Tom was lucky to get out when he did.'

'_You_ were lucky Tom got out when he did,' replied Kingsley. 'He was the only one who knew you were still inside. I thought he was going to strangle Dawlish when he was slow in dropping the wards. You only just made it.'

Harry nodded. 'Another few seconds and I'd have been toast,' he confirmed. He did not notice Hermione shudder at the words. 'So can I speak to Blaise? And Willie?' he asked.

Kingsley nodded. 'Of course. And I would like to observe you in action_, Soul Thief,_ if you have no objections, that is?

Harry smiled at the phrase. 'No. Of course I have no objections. You could be useful; you are more intimidating than me.' He smiled. 'Well; uglier anyway.'

Kingsley laughed, glad Harry could still joke. He was also pleased to be investigating again. Much as being Minister had its compensations, he did miss the thrill of the chase. And he would get the bastard behind all of this, he vowed. And when that happened he would be more than happy to see how far he could use his ministerial prerogative.

'Let's go then,' he said, suddenly pleased to be able to do something useful for once.

Hermione tried to hide her distaste as she took a seat opposite Blaise Zabini. They were using Gawain Robards' office to conduct the interview and while the surroundings were comfortable she could not put herself at ease in the presence of a man who might possibly be a traitor. She glanced over to the corner where Harry was having a quiet conversation with Kingsley and noticed that he looked grim. It was obvious that he had donned his Auror persona and she wondered what approach he would take. She had already witnessed his "bad cop" routine with Mundungus and she wondered if the same tactic would work with someone like Blaise who had also been trained in interrogation techniques and who would know all the tricks. Perhaps that was what Harry and Kingsley were discussing?

As she watched them she realised that she still felt a sense of unreality over everything that had happened in the past twelve hours. _I had sex with Harry today_, she thought to herself and she felt her colour heighten just a shade when she considered this. Less than a week ago she had not seen Harry for nearly a year. Now they had mutually declared their love for each other and she had just enjoyed the most mind blowing sex she had ever experienced. Harry had taken her to places that she did not know existed and when she considered that they had not taken their time – that they had both needed to slake an urgent thirst – she wondered at the future possibilities when they would be able to go at a slower pace. She found herself heating up just thinking about it.

She knew beyond doubt that she loved Harry – that she had always loved him. She was also aware that no matter what happened in the next few days, no matter what he wanted to do with his life, she had to be with him. She still struggled when she considered how close he had come to dying this morning – how close they had both come – and in darker moments she wondered what she would do if anything did happen to him. They really were all each other had.

She broke from her musings as Harry patted Kingsley on the arm and smiled. It was clear that her curiosity about how Harry would handle the interview would soon be satisfied as he swiftly grabbed a nearby chair and placed it directly in front of Blaise before sitting astride it.

'Right, you piece of shit. Who are you working for?' Harry asked without preamble and she could hear the contempt in his voice. It was obvious to her that he wasn't going for subtlety.

Blaise's eyes widened. 'Working for? What do you mean?'

'I mean that it is perfectly obvious that you were trying to warn them we were coming. Falling over a cabinet? That's just a little bit too incompetent – even for an idiot like you.' His eyes hardened. 'Who are you working for?'

'No one!' exclaimed Blaise. 'It was an accident! I tripped.'

'Tripped?' Harry sneered. 'Of course you bloody tripped! You couldn't have slid a silver sickle through that gap! What the hell were you up to, Blaise?'

'I thought I could get through,' replied Blaise. His features hardened. 'I _was_ getting through. I had nearly made it when I caught my foot on something. It was an accident. Besides,' he added, 'you saw Dolohov fire that spell at me. Does that strike you as the actions of an ally?'

'Dolohov would curse his own mother if he thought it would help his cause. That proves nothing and you know it.'

'Fine,' said Blaise and Hermione was impressed with his demeanour. 'Do what you want then, Potter. Prove that I acted deliberately. Prove that I was working for them,' he challenged.

_And that's the problem_, thought Hermione. _We can't prove it._

'I don't need to prove it,' replied Harry. 'I'll beat the truth out of you if I have too. Or I'll get some Veritaserum – how would you like that? You just reverted to type, didn't you? You couldn't stop yourself from helping your little Slytherin friends.'

'You can get the Veritaserum if you want Potter – I will say exactly what I'm saying now.' He paused before continuing. 'You just can't get over your hatred for my school House, can you? Not every Slytherin is a Deatheater,' he said contemptuously, 'just like not every Gryffindor is a hero. Don't tar us all with the same brush – I hated the Dark Lord just like you. I never asked to be a Slytherin; the hat decided that was where I belonged.' His eyes hardened. 'And I don't regret it either. I'm proud of my House, even if arseholes like you hate us.'

Hermione thought Harry was going to attack the man there and then and so was surprised when he started to laugh. She watched as he suddenly stood up and began to pace the room, deep in thought. Finally he stopped and placed his chin in his hand. 'Well done, Blaise,' he finally said and there was no rancour in his voice. 'I think you have managed to convince me. I actually do believe you. I don't think you're corrupt but you are fucking useless.' Hermione was caught out when he turned to face her before continuing. 'What do you think?' he asked.

She was surprised at the question; she was not trained to interrogate people and didn't feel qualified to judge. Harry must have sensed her indecision for when he spoke again, his voice was gentler.

'You're a good judge of character, Hermione. You also used to tell me that House unity was important. Can we trust this Slytherin?'

She turned to stare at Blaise and wasn't surprised to see him stare straight back at her. She nodded her head. 'Yes; I think we can. I think he's telling the truth. I believe him, Harry.'

'Why?' he asked and his tone was now urgent; intense.

'Because he's right; not every Slytherin is bad. Dumbledore always said that; he always said that the Houses had to stick together. He seems sincere to me and I'm usually quite good at spotting a liar. He's willing to take Veritaserum too. Besides,' she added, wondering if what she was about to say was relevant, 'I don't think the Zabini family ever supported Voldemort.'

'What makes you think that?'

'I've met his mother. And his stepfather.' She turned to Blaise. 'Stepfather number six, isn't he?' She could tell that Blaise was not too happy at her for bringing up his family history. Rumours about his mother's numerous widowhoods had persisted for years but nothing had ever been proven.

'When did you meet her?' asked Harry, clearly curious. She was surprised that he was pursuing this line with her.

'At one of those bloody parties. I only met her briefly – Fudge did most of the talking.' She noticed the questioning look on his face and explained further. 'She has a vote on the Wizengamot and Fudge managed to persuade her to vote in our favour.'

'He did?' blurted Blaise and Hermione turned and saw a look of surprise on his face.

'Yes; he did. Did she not tell you?'

Blaise shrugged. 'She doesn't tell me anything. I hardly see her these days.'

She turned back to Harry and noticed that he had an amused expression on his face. 'So you think he's telling the truth because his mum seems a reasonable person?' he asked. She flushed, realising how absurd it sounded, but she nodded her admission.

He laughed. 'It's OK, Hermione. I believe him too. He's not that good a liar. I'm glad that I'm not the only one who thinks so.' He turned to Blaise. 'I am choosing to believe that you are incompetent rather than malicious but something _is _bothering me about what you said. What exactly did you trip over?'

Blaise looked astonished at Harry's words for a moment before he finally shrugged again. 'I honestly don't know. I thought the way was clear. I must have caught my foot on a table leg or something.'

She noticed that Harry looked deeply thoughtful at this comment before he finally turned to Kingsley.

'OK, boss. I've heard enough. You can let him go if you want,' he said and she noticed that Kingsley accepted his words without demur. She turned back as Harry addressed her directly.

'Come on then, Miss Granger,' he began, offering his arm, 'let's go and speak to Mr Widdershins. I have a feeling that his interview might be a bit more…stimulating.'

She smiled at his words and put her arm through the crook in his. With a final nod of acknowledgement to Blaise, she let Harry lead her off to the dungeons.

Kreacher the House Elf listened carefully as two of his former colleagues from Hogwarts related what they had discovered. He nodded thoughtfully at the news, thanked them both for their trouble and dismissed them.

_I must speak to Master_, he thought to himself.

It had been a long week for Kreacher. When Mistress Granger had explained what his master required he had not been entirely sure that he would be able to accomplish what was being asked of him. Finding an elf that did not want to be found was not an easy task.

He had one advantage though; one thing in his favour that Mistress Granger would never fully grasp despite her best efforts to understand his kind. Kreacher was an important elf in his society and he was able to use his influence to achieve his master's request. It was what gave him this influence that Mistress Granger would never fathom.

Elves were naturally subservient; they preferred to have a master – indeed, for the vast majority of them, their personal happiness _depended_ on having a master. But elves also had their own hierarchy and despite its archaic rules the majority adhered to it. Kreacher knew that he would have had a position of influence solely on account of his age – his species was one of the few that respected and revered their elders. He also knew that he was well regarded as a result of his actions in the battle at Hogwarts. But more importantly, to a species naturally subservient to human masters, the prestige and authority of an individual elf _among elves_ derived directly from the importance of the master he or she served.

And Kreacher's master was Harry Potter, the greatest and most important wizard alive to house elves.

So when he had arrived at Hogwarts after receiving his orders he'd had no problem enlisting helpers in his mission. In fact, the Hogwarts elves had been honoured to be involved in such a task; this was _Harry Potter_ who was giving the orders, after all; some of the younger ones had barely been able to contain their excitement.

So he had put feelers out. Had requested information on any elves who had been acting strange; who had seemed unhappy or – quite simply – had disappeared. His task had been made easier by the close-knit society of his kind. There were not that many elves in Britain – no more than a few thousand – and as a result just about every elf was known to each other – at least; known at one or two removes. It simplified his task but did not make it easy.

After explaining his master's desire, Kreacher had been left with very little to do save wait for a response. He had tried a few leads of his own but had discovered nothing so he had resolved himself to waiting patiently for the news to come back to him. Patience came easily to House Elves.

Now he had the answer his master was looking for and he prepared to bring him the tidings. He suspected that his master would not be pleased at what he had discovered but that was of no importance. He had been given an order and had carried it out. What his master did with the information was entirely his business.

With this in mind, Kreacher concentrated for a few moments before disappearing with a loud _crack_.


	23. Mission Accomplished?

**Mission Accomplished?**

Harry clutched Hermione's hand tightly as he followed Kingsley into the bowels of the Ministry. It occurred to him that she probably had not been this deep under the building and that it could be a bit disconcerting to the uninitiated. This area of the Ministry was the only part that remained from the original medieval structure and one could discern this from the cold, aged stone that seemed to seep with the history of the place. The passages were narrower here; the ceilings lower and he felt the familiar drop in temperature as they descended even further into the earth.

He clutched Hermione's hand tighter, enjoying the sensation of her soft skin. He could still hardly believe that they were now lovers; that their long friendship had evolved into something else – something better, he earnestly hoped. When he considered his mental state of only a week ago he considered it a miracle that he was feeling as content as he was now, despite the pressures of the case. He knew it was all Hermione's doing; that she had been there for him just as she had always been there for him throughout his magical life and he resolved to make sure she knew just how much he appreciated her. He vowed that he would never take her for granted again.

When he thought about what they had shared earlier and went over the lovemaking that was still fresh in his memory he had to stop himself from letting his mind wander too far down that path for fear of having his thoughts betrayed to the others by the biological evidence down below. He smiled at the thought. _Willie will think I have a thing for him! First I accost him in the loo and then I'll be questioning him with a hard-on if I'm not careful!_ He chuckled to himself as he thought on this and waved away the curious look he received from Hermione.

They passed the cell that housed Draco Malfoy and he made a mental note to call in on him once they had finished talking to Willie. He had neglected his – for want of a better word – client these past few days and knew that the man deserved an update on his attempts to clear his name. He couldn't even begin to understand what Draco was going through at the moment. Confined in a cold, dank cell with nothing to occupy him save for the prospect of eternal oblivion.

It didn't bear thinking about.

He was so distracted by these depressing thoughts that he nearly bumped into the back of Kingsley when his friend stopped abruptly. It was obvious that they had arrived at the cell where Willie was being held and he felt a degree of sympathy for the petty crook who had gotten himself involved well out of his depth. Kingsley seemed to sense his unease for he turned to whisper to him.

'I know it seems a bit severe but I reckoned he would be more willing to talk if he had the fear of God put into him. Besides,' Kingsley added, his tone becoming harsher, 'he did assist four escaped Deatheaters. If he has a good reason for this and if he co-operates fully then I'll let him go. _If_,' he added meaningfully.

Harry nodded his understanding. He believed that Willie was as much a victim in this affair as anyone but Kingsley was correct; the man's future depended on his actions now and he hoped that Willie had the wit to realise this. He took a deep breath as Kingsley opened the cell door and led them in.

Harry was immediately struck by just how bad this particular cell was. Kingsley seemed to have gone out of his way to make Willie as uncomfortable as possible. While none of the cells on this level were particularly appealing, this one was as bad as he had seen. The air was so damp that the condensation practically ran down the walls. The cold, stone floor was completely bare and extremely uneven and he thought he could hear the scuffling of rats in the corner. There was a solitary stone bed with no mattress and an old table with a few battered chairs surrounding it that he understood had just been brought in order to conduct this interview. Willie was evidently being given the full treatment.

'Good evening, Willie,' he said pleasantly as he entered. 'I'm glad to see that I haven't caught you at a bad moment this time.'

Willie flushed at the remark, obviously still embarrassed at the memory of their previous encounter. Harry took his time to sit down and as he did so he examined the man closely. He looked terrible. His eyes flitted about the room and he was unshaven and very dishevelled. It was also clear from the smell that he was sweating profusely despite the frigid temperature in the cell. Willie was worried.

_Good._

'I won't beat about the bush, Willie. I need you to answer some questions. If you answer me truthfully then your chances of getting out of here are pretty good. If not?'

He left the rest unsaid, preferring instead to leave that one to Willie's imagination and he felt deep satisfaction when the little crook nodded his understanding. _He's going to sing like a canary._

'I want you to start from the beginning. How did you get involved with these people?'

Willie licked his lips before answering. 'I want you to understand, Harry, that they approached me - not the other way about. I had never dealt with these people before. I may have pulled a few scams in my time but I was never a Deatheater. Just remember that, will you? They approached me.'

Harry sighed. 'How did you get involved with these people?' he repeated. I don't want your life story; I just want the truth.'

'I know, Harry, but that is the truth. I was approached in a pub.'

Harry nodded; he'd suspected as much. 'Who approached you?'

'Crabbe.'

'Crabbe?' interjected Hermione incredulously. 'An escaped Deatheater just waltzed into a pub and no one minded?' she added and the sarcasm was plain for all to hear. She had vowed to herself to let Harry do all the talking but it seemed that Willie had started lying immediately.

Willie just looked at her almost piteously. 'I think you might drink in different pubs from me,' he said. 'I don't think you have ever been _near_ the type of boozer I go to. Yes; Crabbe just waltzed into the pub and no one paid any attention. No one ever does.'

Hermione looked on the little man, her disbelief evident before turning to face Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry could not help but smile. While she was the cleverest person he knew she could be something of a naïf in certain matters. His work as an Auror had taken him into the seedy underbelly of their society and he had discovered very quickly just how much "business" was conducted in dodgy taverns – you could get almost anything in one of these places. And in these establishments one did not pay too much attention to other people's activities. Anyone who stuck their nose into another man's affair was liable to have it bitten off.

'He's probably telling the truth, Hermione. You'd be amazed at some of the thing's that go on in these places. The Hog's Head is like the Ritz compared to some of the pubs Willie frequents.' He turned back to Willie. 'So Crabbe approached you? When?'

'About two days after they escaped. He said that they needed someone to obtain things for them and that I came with a good recommendation. He said that they needed someone discreet and that I fitted the bill.'

'And you agreed to help? Just like that?' asked Harry. Willie shook his head.

'No; it wasn't "just like that"! He bought me a few drinks and buttered me up for a while. Then he told me that they knew where I lived; knew where my wife worked and where my kids like to play. He then told me that there would be some serious coin involved if I co-operated.'

Harry nodded. 'Ah! The old "carrot and stick" trick?'

'Yeah; and it was a bloody big carrot and an even bigger stick. And the stick had nails in it,' Willie added as an afterthought.

'Why didn't you tell anyone once he had gone?' asked Harry. 'Surely that would have been the sensible thing to do? You could even have claimed a reward. Why didn't you do that?'

'Because he immediately introduced me to those goons you saw at the Hog's Head. I had no room for manoeuvre. No room at all.' He eyed Harry squarely. 'You should know, Harry; I've barely been able to take a piss in private lately.'

Harry smiled at the remark and even felt a degree of sympathy for the little crook. Something else occurred to him though.

'Who recommended you? It must have been someone who knows you and the Deatheaters.'

Willie shrugged. 'No idea, Harry. I'm quite well known as someone who can get you things. I suppose anyone could have told them that. I do have something of a reputation.'

Harry accepted this at face value but something niggled at him. There were scores of small time crooks like Willie who could have provided the same service. Dung could have done it too and he would probably have been better at it. _So_ w_hy Willie?_

'What did you get for them? '

'A bit of everything. I got them their food and drink and stuff. I also got them all their furniture at the beginning. I was given a pile of cash to get everything and left to sort out the price. I got to keep what I didn't spend. That way there was no paper trail which suits me just fine. It's not the first time I've worked on a set up like that. The money to pay me dried up a little after I helped them at the beginning; that's why they muscled in on Leadpipe. It was to keep me in coin.'

'At the beginning?' asked Hermione suddenly and Harry could detect a dangerous edge to her voice. 'You were working for them right after they escaped? Does that mean you were working for them when they killed Ron?'

'I had nothing to do with that!' exclaimed Willie. 'I had no idea what they were up to; I just did what I was told. I had no choice! They threatened my family, for fuck's sake!'

Harry stretched out his arm and patted Hermione on the leg. They had to keep their emotions in check. It was difficult but if they lost their tempers they would get nothing useful out of Willie. He turned to her and waited until she nodded her understanding.

'So what do you know, Willie?' We know that you approached Lucius Malfoy last week to get his help. How much of the plan did you know?'

'Nothing,' replied Willie. 'It was "need to know" and I didn't need to know anything. They ordered me to approach Lucius and sound him out. If he was interested I was to tell him where they were, that's all.'

'How did Lucius react?'

'Like I'd suggested he dance naked in Diagon Alley. He wanted nothing to do with it although he did offer some cash. I think he was hoping to fob them off.'

'But they didn't need money, did they?' Harry observed.

'Too bloody right they didn't. Look, Harry; I was just a pawn in all of this but I'm not completely stupid. These people had some serious backing. They were broken out of Azkaban and they had money falling out of their mouths. I don't know where it came from but if I were you that's what I would be looking at.'

'Follow the money,' replied Harry quietly.

'Exactly!' exclaimed Willie. You find out who is bank rolling this and you've got your man. That's all I know, honestly.' He turned to Kingsley and his face was a picture of misery. 'Can I go home now?' he asked. 'I miss my family.'

Kingsley stirred from his position in the corner. He turned to Harry who nodded. Willie was a crook but he was not a murderer. He was as much a victim as Ron or Cho. He'd had no choice. _He should be made to pay something for his stupidity though_. A sudden idea occurred to him.

'How much did you make?' he asked suddenly. Willie immediately took on the look of a hunted animal.

'Oh…a few bob here and there,' he answered carefully. 'Why?'

'Because these were ill-gotten gains, Willie. Proceeds from crime. Do you think you should be allowed to keep it all?'

Willie looked at Harry as if he were mad. 'Eh…yes?' he replied.

Harry laughed. 'Nice try Willie. I'll tell you what; I'll make a deal with you. I think a charitable donation might be in order. I know that there are a lot of needy house elves in our world. I'll be looking for a sizable anonymous donation to their cause soon. Do I make myself clear?'

Willie looked horrified but Harry turned the screw. 'It's the best deal in town, Willie. You could always remain here.'

Willie put his hands up. 'Fair enough, Harry. It's a deal. Not all of it though?' he asked pleadingly.

Harry smiled. 'No; not all of it. But if you aren't generous enough I'll come looking. Understood?'

Willie nodded meekly. 'Understood, Harry. And thanks.'

'Don't mention it,' he replied before standing to leave. He turned and was delighted to see that Hermione had a massive grin on her face.

_Well, she is patron of the charity, after all. At least some good might come from all of this._

Hermione was still feeling uncomfortable as she followed Harry towards Draco's cell. This part of the Ministry was new to her and she thanked her lucky stars that she did not have to come near this place in the course of her duties. She'd decided a long time ago that she'd done enough battling against evil to last a lifetime and when she reflected on the matter she was surprised that Harry had chosen the career path he did. She had to admit that he was good at it though.

Kingsley had decided not to join them for this particular visit but had requested that they both call in on him before leaving the Ministry for the day. He seemed quite satisfied with the information obtained from Willie and Harry also seemed content. She realised that she would have to engage her brain a bit more in order to catch up. Both of them seemed to have picked up on something that she had missed.

But now as she entered yet another fetid cell her attention was diverted by the sight of a broken looking Draco Malfoy as he sat in the company of his mother. His once bright blonde hair now resembled straw and his clothes were dirty and unkempt. He was a far cry from the arrogant teenager that had strutted like a peacock among the corridors of Hogwarts but she saw too that his eyes lit up when Harry entered and she noticed that Narcissa also looked pleased to see them.

_How times change._

'Harry! Hermione! Oh, it is so good to see you both,' began Narcissa. 'We heard about the raid this morning - and the attack on your office, Hermione. Thank Merlin you're both safe.'

Harry smiled at the words. 'Thanks for your concern but we are not here about our own narrow escapes.' He nodded at Draco. 'We're here to update your son. I'm sorry I haven't visited for a couple of days but I have been busy.'

Both Draco and Narcissa nodded their understanding. 'So what can you tell us?' asked Draco. 'Have you managed to clear my name yet?'

'Not yet,' replied Harry and saw the disappointment – and the fear – on his one-time enemy's face. 'We're getting close though,' he decided to add. He spent the next few minutes updating them on everything. He told them of the raid; the death of the escapees; the botched attack on Hermione and finally on his interviews with Blaise and Willie.

'Blaise would never be mixed up in something like this,' said Draco, finally. 'He was never a proper Slytherin.'

'You mean he wasn't evil?' asked Hermione sweetly. Draco seemed to consider her for the first time as she spoke.

'Very funny, Granger,' he replied. 'No; I mean that he would never have the bottle to get mixed up in something like this. He's clever enough but he's not ruthless.'

'And the escapees are all dead?' asked Narcissa. 'That is unfortunate.'

Harry nodded. 'It sure is; I was hoping to be able to question at least one of them. That lead is closed to us now. But it's not all bad; we think Willie has given us something to go on and I know that Kingsley believes you are innocent, Draco.'

'He does?' asked Narcissa, surprised. Her eyes narrowed. 'But that won't do us any good. The Minister has already told me he will not interfere in this case. I'm surprised at him; he never struck me as a typical politician.'

'He's not a typical politician,' replied Harry. 'When did he tell you that?'

'When I was informing him of our decision to appoint you as investigator. He told me that he wouldn't use his prerogative to save a murderer.'

'He thought Draco _was _a murderer when you last spoke. Trust me, Narcissa; Kingsley is a good man. He'll think of something if I don't pull the answers out of the hat soon.'

Hermione noticed the sceptical look on Narcissa's face but decided not to comment. She was still trying to work out what Willie had given them to go on. She let the conversation wash over her as she tried to work out what she had missed. She was so consumed by her own thoughts that she did not hear the conversation end and Harry take his leave of the Malfoy's. She hastily muttered her own pleasantries before following him out of the cell.

'Harry?' she asked. 'What _did_ we learn from Willie?' To her annoyance, he just smiled.

'Something I should have picked up on a lot sooner,' he replied. 'Come on; Kingsley is waiting. I'll explain everything when we reach his office.'

Hermione resisted the urge to belt him when he said that. Much as she loved him, he could really get under her skin sometimes.

_Ah, well; no one's perfect._

A few moments later, Hermione entered Kingsley's office and sat down in the first available chair. She crossed her legs and folded her arms, leaning back in disapproval as she did so.

'So, do one of you two want to tell me what I missed?' she asked, a hint of asperity in her tone. Harry and Kingsley shared an amused glance, something that was not designed to improve her humour.

'So you picked up on that then, Harry?' asked Kingsley.

Harry nodded his head ruefully. 'Yeah; I did. And it's something I should have thought of when I spoke to Lucius too. He mentioned it as well but I was thinking about other things.' He looked directly at his friend. 'It's something you should have looked at too,' he added reprovingly.

'We did at the time,' replied Kingsley. 'We ran it down but didn't find anything amiss.'

'For God's sake will you stop talking in riddles and tell me what is going on?'

Harry turned to Hermione, realising that they may have taken the joke a little too far.

'Can you remember what Willie said?' he asked gently.

'Of course I can,' she replied. 'He told us to find out who was bank rolling the whole thing. We're already trying to do that.'

Harry shook his head. 'Not that; what else did he say about the _escapees_?'

There was something in the way he said it that struck her as odd. She furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. 'He said that they were broken out of Azkaban and that they had plenty of money…' Her eyes widened in realisation. 'They were broken out of Azkaban!' she repeated.

'Exactly,' said Harry, satisfied. 'I could kick myself for not thinking of this sooner. They must have had help; you don't just walk out of that place.'

'What sort of help?' asked Hermione.

'Inside help,' replied Kingsley. 'Azkaban isn't somewhere that you can just pop over to visit when you want. They must have had someone on the inside.'

'So why didn't you pursue that at the time?' asked Hermione.

'We did. We administered Veritaserum to all of the guards and all came up clean. After that we concluded that they must have acted alone.'

Hermione looked confused for a moment and Harry decided to put her out of her misery.

'If Willie and Lucius are correct and they had help _and_ if none of the guards were culpable then it must have been someone who is allowed to access the island that assisted them.'

Hermione nodded her understanding. 'But who had access?' she asked.

'We don't know – yet,' replied Kingsley. 'However; every visitor has their presence recorded as a matter of routine. I have already owled the prison requesting the visitors log. It should be here no later than tomorrow. Not too many people go to that place; the list of names shouldn't be too long.'

'Why didn't you do this at the time?' asked Hermione.

'We did,' replied Kingsley. 'But Dawlish assured me that every name on the list was bona fide. Of course, that was before all of this started. We can't assume that anyone is above suspicion now. Even me,' he added with a tight grin.

'Don't start that shit, Kingsley,' laughed Harry. 'You'll have me doubting my own innocence if we go down that route. You're starting to sound like Mad-Eye and…'

_CRACK!_

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden noise and his shock at the disturbance soon turned to pleasure as he realised what had caused it.

'Kreacher!' he exclaimed. 'It's good to see you, Kreacher. How are you?'

The elf took in his surroundings before replying, almost as if seeking out enemies. Apparently satisfied that there were no immediate threats, he turned to Harry.

'Kreacher is well, Master. Kreacher is sorry that he took so long to return to you.'

Harry's eyes widened and he noticed Hermione slowly get to her feet. 'You have something for me?' he asked.

'Yes, Master. I have a name. The elf you are looking for is called Modric. Perhaps the Minister or Mistress Hermione would be kind enough to summon him for us?'

'Me?' asked Hermione incredulously. 'Why me? Or Kingsley, for that matter?'

Kreacher turned to her, unperturbed. 'Because Modric is a Ministry elf, Mistress. He will answer your call. If he can.'

Wide eyes greeted these words; Harry could hardly believe what he had just heard. He looked at Hermione and nodded his head.

'Ok then,' she said. 'Modric!'

And nothing happened. All three pairs of human eyes turned again to Kreacher who nodded his head mournfully. 'It is as I suspected,' he began. 'I fear that Modric is no more. He would only refuse to answer a summons if he were greatly injured. Or dead,' he added meaningfully. 'It is what brought his name to my attention. He has not been seen for over a week and that is a long time for an elf to go missing. He was summoned and no one has seen him since.'

'Damn it!' exclaimed Harry, his hopes dashed before they even had a chance to take flight. 'Damn it!' he repeated, slamming his hand on Kingsley's desk as he did so. 'Another fucking dead end.'

'No it isn't,' replied Hermione. She turned to Kreacher who was visibly wilting under Harry's anger even though it was not directed at him. 'Well done, Kreacher,' she said gently. 'Very well done indeed. This is extremely important information,' she added and her words seemed to mollify the little elf.

'Important? How?' asked Harry. 'A Ministry elf? Surely anyone in this building could have ordered that elf around?' He noticed Hermione and Kingsley share a look.

'It doesn't work like that, Harry' replied Hermione. 'It used to, but not any more. One of the first things I did when I took office was to change the law on the Ministry elves. Too many people were taking advantage of them.'

'So what did you do?'

'I restricted the number of people who could give them orders.'

Harry felt the hope flame within him again. 'Restricted? To whom?'

'To the Minister, his department heads and some of the Aurors,' replied Hermione. 'No one else.'

'So the person who used…' he turned to Kreacher, 'Modric, was it?' Kreacher nodded. 'So the person who used Modric is a senior Ministry employee?'

Hermione nodded. 'Or an Auror. A senior Auror. The complete list is less than twenty people and two of them are standing in this room.'

'Sweet Merlin,' breathed Harry. 'I really need to see that list.' He turned to Kreacher and knelt down in front of the little elf. Taking him by the shoulders he embraced him warmly. 'Well done, Kreacher. Very well done. I'm sorry I shouted. This is going to really help us. I don't know how you managed this but I can imagine. Thank you.'

Kreacher nearly burst into tears at these words. 'It is my pleasure, Master. I live to serve. Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'Not at the moment, Kreac…Oh! Wait a minute! There is,' he said as he remembered something. He looked the elf straight in the eye. 'Do you think you could lay your hands on an edition of the _Daily Prophet_ for me? I want a copy of the one from the day after Cho Chang's death. I need to see the society column in it.' He noticed the confused looks on the faces of Hermione and Kingsley and decided to explain. 'If there was a reporter at that party then I want to see what was written. It's their job to spot anything out of the ordinary. It might be worth having a look to see if it says anything about the guests.' He could tell from their expressions that they thought he was clutching at straws so he decided to turn back to Kreacher.

'There is something I need to check out, Kreacher; do you think you can get a copy for me?'

'Of course, Master. I will start right away,' replied Kreacher, delighted to have another task to perform after months of idleness. 'I shall have it for you very soon,' he assured.

Harry smiled and reached out to pat the little elf on the head but his hand passed through thin air as Kreacher vanished with another _crack_. He turned to the others, a wide grin on his face. 'Now we are getting somewhere,' he said.

He noticed Hermione smile at his words but that Kingsley did not look too happy. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

Kingsley sighed. 'From everything that has happened this week, it becomes clearer each day that Draco Malfoy is innocent.'

'I know,' replied Harry. 'That's a good thing, isn't it?'

'From Draco Malfoy's point of view it certainly is,' replied Kingsley. 'But from mine, it's not so good.'

'Why?'

'Because I will not allow an innocent man to undergo the Kiss. Because when I use my prerogative to insist the threat of the Kiss is removed, my political enemies will move in for the kill.' He turned to Hermione. 'You realise that this could cost us the vote next week?'

Harry could tell from her shocked expression that she had not considered this. 'How?' she finally asked. 'Malfoy has nothing to do with our Bill.'

'No he doesn't,' replied Kingsley. 'But if we lose then many will see it as undermining my authority. We have worked on this for years and it will be taken as a vote of confidence in my Administration. If I reprieve Draco then I fear that some will retaliate by voting against me – regardless of what they really think about the matter at hand.'

'But that's horrible,' replied Hermione, aghast.

'That's politics,' said Kingsley flatly. He turned to Harry. 'I will be calling a special meeting of the Wizengamot tomorrow night to inform them of my decision. When using the Ministerial Prerogative, it must be done in session.'

Harry too was horrified. 'Why tomorrow? I have two days left!'

Kingsley sighed. 'Because the Judge and the Prosecution must be notified at least twenty four hours in advance. That is the Law, Harry. I have no flexibility here.' To the surprise of both Harry and Hermione, he suddenly smiled. 'But politics is not your concern, Harry.' He thrust out his hand. 'I suppose congratulations are in order. You have saved your client; you have done your job.'

'No I haven't!' exclaimed Harry, ignoring the outstretched hand. Kingsley shrugged at the snub. 'I still don't know who is behind all this,' Harry continued.

'But you have satisfied me that it is not Draco,' replied Kingsley. As I said; you have demonstrated to me the innocence of your client; you have done your job, Soul Thief.' He ignored the protestations from both Harry and Hermione and continued.

'Unfortunately, I think you may have cost me mine.'


	24. Breakthrough

**Breakthrough**

Harry followed Hermione into the apartment and made his way over to the sofa before dropping himself into it in a state of despondency. It had been an extremely eventful day and they had uncovered much in relation to the case but despite this he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of defeat. _We were so close!_ He knew that he should be pleased – he had after all performed his duty and managed to save Draco from the Dementors but instead he felt like he had failed; that his inability to uncover the truth was a damning indictment on his efforts. He knew – _knew_ – that the answer was within his grasp but Kingsley's unexpected decision had largely taken the matter out of his hands; his "success" in saving Draco officially ended his interest in the case. John Dawlish was now back in charge of the matter as leading Auror in the investigation. It also meant that they had less than twenty four hours to discover the truth for with Kingsley's announcement tomorrow night, his official interest in the case would be over.

Hermione could sense his disappointment and could fully understand it. She considered trying to console him by pointing out that he had done his job but she knew that he would not be receptive to such attempts. The job was only half done and Harry would not be content with that. She too wasn't happy with the way things had turned out but she was aware that they still had time to succeed – she had to convince Harry not to give up just yet. She knew her man too well; knew that he would consider himself a failure for not uncovering the truth. She also knew how to break him out of his despondency.

'So what now?' she asked.

He looked at her, surprise etched on his face. 'Now? Buggered if I know. The case is over for us; Kingsley as good as told us that earlier.'

'But you don't believe that, do you?' She kept her own sense of disappointment out of her voice as she spoke. She _had _to snap him out of this. 'You don't think it's over at all. We still have a day to find the answers.'

Harry closed his eyes and she could see he was struggling with himself. 'What difference does it make now?' he finally asked.

Hermione found herself feeling angry. 'Difference? I'm surprised at you, Harry. Kingsley could lose his job here. I could lose mine!' This got his attention, she saw. 'I can't believe you could be so obtuse, Harry! This is bigger than Draco; bigger than us. Has it not occurred to you that this has been about Kingsley all along? That this whole thing has been about our bill?'

'Of course it has occurred to me!' he snapped in reply and she was pleased with his reaction.

'So what do you intend to do about it?' she asked, her voice a challenge.

She watched as he visibly deflated. 'I don't know; I don't know what to do now. Any ideas?'

'A few,' she replied. 'But I need to know; are you willing to see this through?' She saw a flash of anger cross his face and knew she had hit a nerve. It seemed odd that she was now extolling him to continue but she could understand his despondency. She just had to rouse him from his despair. 'You have never walked away from a challenge in your life, Harry. Why start now?'

He closed his eyes and cursed himself for wallowing in self pity. 'You're right, Hermione. As usual. I'm sorry; I'm just a little taken aback by the speed of events. It's been quite a day.'

She smiled at his understatement and moved to join him on the sofa. She lay across it and leaned against him, her feet curled up at one end. 'It has been quite a day, hasn't it? Maybe we should just have stayed in bed?'

To her pleasure she began to feel him shake with silent laughter. It wasn't that her words were particularly humorous; rather it was a case that he had to accept what had happened before he could move on. She found herself laughing softly with him.

'Thanks,' he finally replied.

'What for?' she asked.

He turned his head to look at her. 'For everything. For always being here to keep an eye on me. For never letting me down. For…'

'Harry, I...' she began.

'Be quiet. I'm not finished,' he interrupted. He shifted his position so he could see her better. 'I was thinking earlier…'

'That's a novelty.'

'Hermione!' he said, exasperated. 'Let me finish, please?' She nodded her face a picture of mischief. 'I was thinking earlier about us. It occurred to me that I wasn't a very good friend to you at times.'

'Oh, Harry. Don't be silly,' she replied, now serious. 'I couldn't have asked for a better friend.'

'Yes you could. You have always been there for me, Hermione. You never – not once – abandoned me. You stuck by me when the whole school turned against me; you followed me to the Ministry even when you didn't agree with me. And you stayed with me on the Horcrux hunt after Ron left. And I never thanked you for that. I repaid you by usually taking Ron's side in an argument; by never telling you how much you mean to me; by not offering you comfort when you needed it. When I think about how I treated you after Ron left us back in seventh year I cringe. I totally abandoned you and yet when we visited my parent's graves you still offered me comfort. When I think about it I wish I could hex myself. Even after Ron died and I became what I did you still stood by me and pulled me back.'

'That doesn't matter now, Harry,' she replied softly and she could feel herself close to crying.

'Yes it does. I want you to hear this. I want you to know. I am nothing without you. I couldn't have done anything without you. I'm about ten years late in telling you this but I want you to hear it. I never want you to be in any doubt about how much I need you. Especially now.'

'Harry-:'

'Shhh. Not another word,' he interrupted as he leaned in to kiss her. It was slow and lingering and the two of them took their time to enjoy each other. They were still at the stage where it was a novelty to be doing this; where each kiss and caress was something of an adventure to them both.

'Don't ever leave me,' whispered Harry as they broke contact.

'Not in this life,' she replied, realising that she echoed his words from the previous night. They lay together in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their thoughts.

'Could you really lose your job?' Harry finally asked.

'Yes,' she replied simply. I am a Ministerial appointment. A new Minister might want someone else.'

He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'If Kingsley is ousted, who stands to take over?'

Hermione took a moment to reply. 'I don't know, to be honest. I suppose Robards would be a possibility but I don't think people would accept a third Minister in a row from the Aurors. It could be anyone I suppose.'

'So there is no obvious candidate? No frontrunner?'

'No; though I suppose whoever gets the job will have to get the support of the Wizengamot. It will need to be someone who keeps the media sweet too in order to gain popular support and I don't know who that would be. It basically means I have no idea if I will be kept on if Kingsley is forced out.'

'In that case we had better keep at this. You said you had a few ideas; what are they?'

She grimaced. 'Nothing original, I'm afraid. I just think we should keep going. Kreacher has narrowed the field down somewhat. We know someone on the list has to be involved. Someone who could order the elves around. We should return to Gringotts and see what we can find – check out those names. Someone tried to kill me, Harry. That might be because they wanted to get to you but it might also be because we are getting close. I think we should keep going.'

Harry nodded vaguely, still feeling the anger when he considered what nearly occurred. He thought too on the list Hermione had obtained from Kingsley. It didn't mention names; rather it listed the positions in the Ministry that held authority over the elves. He hadn't even known that the Ministry _had_ elves but as Hermione had explained, who else did he think performed all the crappy jobs? Someone cleaned up every night and made sure all the candles were lit. Someone cooked all the food for the canteen and disposed of all the rubbish afterwards. It had just never occurred to him that elves would be involved.

The list made for interesting reading though; it mentioned the Minister and all his department heads as well as a few other positions within the Auror Division. If a person was appointed to one of these positions then they automatically assumed this authority. Hermione had been thoughtful enough to pencil the names of each office holder next to their job title and there were a few individuals that gave him food for thought.

Gawain Robards was listed, as were John Dawlish, Tom Proudfoot and Mark Savage among the Aurors. Judge Swing was listed too as was Cuthbert Mockridge. He'd been surprised by his inclusion as he was not a department head but Hermione had explained that he had once been the head of the old Goblin Liaison office. Apparently once one obtained the authority one didn't lose it. There were a few others that he recognised and some that he didn't but the list only totalled seventeen people when Hermione and Kingsley were discounted.

It gave them something to go on.

'I agree,' he finally replied. 'Tomorrow we go to Gringotts and examine the accounts of the people on this list with a fine toothcomb. There isn't much else we can do for the moment.'

'Oh, I don't know, Harry,' replied Hermione with a sly grin. 'Right at this particular moment I can think of a few things we can do.' She shifted her position and swung her right leg over him so that she was now straddling him on the sofa.

'In fact,' she continued in a soft voice, 'I suggest we use our imaginations. The possibilities are endless,' she added as she leaned in to kiss him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair and waited for Arthur Weasley to respond to what he had just told him. Despite the fact that it was first thing in the morning, he had asked Arthur to call in and see him in order to seek advice from someone he knew he could trust. He respected Arthur as much as any man alive and valued his company and – more importantly – his friendship.

He had told Arthur everything that had been going on in the Malfoy case; although in light of recent events that particular title was hardly accurate anymore. Things had moved _way_ beyond Draco Malfoy. Arthur had listened in silence as he had gone through everything that Harry and Hermione had uncovered so far. He had let his friend see the list of names of those who had authority over Ministry elves and he had also given him a list of people who could have accessed Hermione's office and lain the trap. He had then informed him of his decision to use his prerogative to save Malfoy from the Dementor's Kiss. He hadn't needed to elaborate; despite not holding senior office, Arthur would be well aware of the consequences of such action.

'So it's about the Bill?' Arthur finally asked. 'Everything has been about this Bill?'

'Not exactly, Arthur. There are obviously a few things going on but I honestly don't think anyone could manipulate events to such a degree. If Cho Chang was murdered to undermine my position then we are dealing with a Machiavellian genius. I think Harry is correct; I think Cho discovered something she wasn't supposed to know and that is why she was killed. It's possible that the framing of Draco Malfoy was a shaft at me but it seems unlikely that someone could predict how this would all pan out.'

'Don't underestimate them, Kingsley,' replied Arthur. 'Everyone knows you play it straight. If there was any doubt about Malfoy's guilt then everyone knows you would step in to save him, regardless of the consequences. It's something to bear in mind.'

Kingsley nodded. 'That had occurred to me but it doesn't add up. Last week I was certain that Draco was as guilty as sin. It is only because of what Harry and Hermione have uncovered that I now believe him innocent. And no one – _no one_ – could have predicted that Harry would return and get involved in this. Narcissa really threw a curve ball with that decision. If she hadn't appointed him Soul Thief, her son would have been Kissed by now – there would have been no decision for me to make.'

Arthur considered this for a long moment. 'The way I see it; you were forced into an untenable position.' He stood up and began pacing the room – something that was really the prerogative of the Minister but Kingsley didn't mind. 'If you had allowed Malfoy to be Kissed then you would have pissed off a lot of the moderates. If you stepped in to save him then the conservatives would be angry. Some of these people would vote against you, Kingsley. Perhaps not many, but maybe enough to swing the vote. Regardless of whether or not Harry returned, you would have had to sign off on the verdict. It's something to consider, surely?'

Kingsley remained silent at this, realising the truth of what Arthur had said. _Was I the target all along? If so; I'm dealing with a very clever bastard._

How are Harry and Hermione anyway?' asked Arthur. 'When I heard about what happened yesterday…'

'Yeah; I know,' replied Kingsley quietly. 'They were lucky. _We _were lucky.' He sighed. 'Harry's not too happy with me at the minute. I told him he had performed his duties as Soul Thief but he wouldn't accept that. Said he had failed because he hadn't found out who was behind all this.'

Arthur smiled. 'Sounds just like him; no half measures for that lad. He'll be worried about you too; he won't want you to be voted out.'

'I know, but there is nothing I can do. I can't let an innocent man be Kissed – not even a Malfoy,' he added as he turned his attention at a soft rap on his office door. 'Come in!' he said.

He smiled as Susan poked her head into the office. 'Sorry to bother you, boss,' she began, 'but this just arrived by owl. It's from Azkaban.'

Kingsley practically leapt out of his chair and took the letter from Susan before ripping it open and scanning it quickly. It wasn't a long letter; it merely contained a list of those people who had visited the prison for one reason or another in the weeks before the break-out. He knew that Dawlish had given assurances that all the names were clean but he wanted to check for himself. One of his greatest frustrations as Minister was having to watch inferior men attempt to do the job he had spent over twenty years mastering. He would always remain an Auror at heart, he knew.

His eyes made their way down the list of names and when he got to about halfway down his heart froze in his chest.

'Sweet Merlin,' he breathed_. It couldn't be true, could it?_

'What's wrong?' asked Arthur.

'Can you hand me the other lists please, Arthur?' asked Kingsley. He waited until his friend had complied and began to cross-check the names of those who controlled the elves with those who could have accessed Hermione's office. Then he turned his attention back to the list from Azkaban.

There was one name on all three lists. Only one.

It could be a coincidence, of course, but twenty years as an Auror had taught him not to believe in coincidence.

He wordlessly handed the lists over to his friend. He knew Arthur would know what this was about. He watched as he scanned the three sheets of parchment before he too froze and looked up, his face a question.

'Yes, Arthur,' Kingsley finally said. 'I think we may have something. But what do I do with it?'

Arthur took his time to reply 'You can't hand this to the Aurors, Kingsley. You know this. That department is compromised. You only have one option.

'I know,' replied Kingsley. 'Susan!' he shouted suddenly and waited until she returned to the office. 'Susan? Could you send this to Harry and Hermione immediately please? It's vital that they receive this as soon as possible.'

Susan nodded her acceptance of the order and took the letter before hastening out of the office. Kingsley turned to his friend.

'I think we just had a break in the Malfoy case,' he said quietly.

Harry awoke early the next morning to bright sunshine as it beamed in through the light curtains that hung in front of the window. He took a moment to transit from sleep to wakefulness but soon became aware of the sleeping form of Hermione as she spread across him, her head on his chest. Once again he decided that he would never get tired of this and he still could hardly believe the turn of events that had made this possible. Last night had been…energetic to say the least and when he thought back on what they had shared it occurred to him that she could get him to do things, take him to places that he hadn't even known existed. She was incredible and seemed to know exactly what buttons to push to get him going. Just when he thought he was completely spent she would somehow manage to spur him on again to new heights. He reckoned that she did not too badly out of him either judging by some of the reactions and noises that he had managed to elicit from her and as he adjusted himself to face the new day it occurred to him that he had never felt so content in his entire life despite everything that had happened the previous day. He lay for a few moments, his eyes drinking in her and he smiled when she finally stirred and opened her eyes, blinking as she did so.

'Good morning,' he said casually.

She smiled in return. 'Morning, Harry,' she replied before stretching her long limbs into wakefulness. Harry took a few seconds to enjoy the view and she sensed his pleasure and allowed her fingers to run across his navel and then lower. 'Ready for the day are we?' she said with amusement.

'Well, part of me seems to be anyway,' he replied before sliding out of the bed. 'Some things we men have no control over,' he added as he made his way to the bathroom. Like most men the world over, he tended to be first to use that particular room in the morning. Magic could achieve many things, he thought in amusement, but he reckoned that some things would always remain beyond its reach.

Once he had freshened up he pulled on a pair of trousers before flipping on the coffee machine in order to really start the day. He noticed with surprise that there was a couple of newspapers on the coffee table and he realised that Kreacher must have visited during the night in order to drop them off. He hoped they had been asleep when he was here; the noise coming from the bedroom might have scared him away otherwise.

He picked up the top copy and realised that it was today's edition of the_ Prophet_. As his eyes scanned the front page he felt the anger rise within him. The article contained an interview with Kingsley who had revealed his intention to call a special session of the Wizengamot. It also contained speculation about the Minister's future and even questioned whether Hermione would survive as head of the DMC if Kingsley were to fall.

'That bloody bitch!' he whispered to himself.

'Who is?' asked Hermione as she entered the room, tying a knot in the cord of her dressing gown as she did so.

'Rita,' he replied handing her the paper. 'She bloody revels in this,' he added as he watched her read. He noticed her eyes harden and he cursed all reporters.

'Don't worry about it, Harry. This sort of thing comes with the territory. I thought you would have realised that by now.'

'I have, but it doesn't mean I can't have a rant about it.' He turned to the other paper on the table and realised that Kreacher had come good again; it was the edition from the day after Cho's murder. He flipped through it quickly hoping to find some answers. Eventually he found the society section and closely examined the photograph at the top of the page. In it, Chang, Fudge, Mockridge, Swing, Robards and Dawlish all stood waving at the camera, stupid fixed grins on their faces. He realised that the photo was taken in Chang's study but supposed that this was to ensure no Muggles saw what was going on. Discarding the picture as irrelevant, he began to read.

_**Fun and Fundraising at Chang's**_

_By Teresa Kiter, Society Correspondent_

_Charity was the order of the day at the fundraising gala hosted by Cheng-Jung Chang last night and a great time was had by all as the money poured in. It was an unusual function as it was also attended by Muggle guests but in the opinion of this reporter, a magical time was had by all. _

_The ladies shone as brightly as the jewellery on display with the emphasis being on grand formality for this gala occasion. The Gentlemen too were resplendent in…'_

Harry closed his eyes and cursed softly. This wasn't what he was looking for; it was a list of who had attended and what they had been wearing – nothing more. Hermione seemed to sense his annoyance and put down her paper on the table before sidling over to him and glancing at the article over his shoulder.

'Well, what did you expect?' she finally asked in amusement.

'I was hoping that it might have mentioned something out of the ordinary,' he replied.

'Fat chance, Harry. It only concerns itself with fashion and gossip. After I was at one of these things it said I should make more of an effort. I made a speech about the Bill and all it mentioned was that my shoes didn't match my bag. I should have told you not to get your hopes up.'

He sighed, folding the paper and tossing it back on top of today's edition on the table. It seemed that every time he thought he might have a lead a door was slammed in his face. This particular idea had been a long shot, he knew, but that didn't alleviate his disappointment. To make himself feel better he poured himself a cup of coffee before making one for Hermione too.

'So what now then?' he asked. 'Gringotts?'

'I think so. And the quicker we get there the better,' she added before taking a sip of coffee.

Harry grimaced, knowing that a day of pouring over ledgers lay ahead. He glanced at Hermione.

_Well, at least the company will be good._

Just over three hour later, Harry and Hermione found themselves back in the small room allocated to them by Ragnok pouring over the remaining ledgers that still had to be examined. Harry had been surprised to discover that Hermione had worked her way through most of them and his feeling of despondency increased as he realised that she had already examined the account of those names that were familiar to them. She had assured him that there was nothing out of the ordinary in them; only what seemed to be normal transfers in and out that formed part of the daily transactions of any typical bank account. They had decided to review the accounts of those on the Ministry list Hermione had obtained but still nothing leapt out.

_We're missing something_, he thought to himself. _There's a key to all of this and it will open up the whole case_. He remained convinced that the answer lay somewhere in this room but he was also conscious that they were running out of time.

He was already bored and was somewhat astonished at the way Hermione was able to concentrate fully on something he knew she found as tedious as he did. She sat with an open book in front of her and minutely examined each line, each transaction as carefully as the first. After about five minutes he struggled to differentiate between one item and the next and he couldn't fathom how she was able to do it. Sighing, he stood to stretch his legs and clear his head. He allowed his eyes to wander over Hermione as she sat in deep concentration and once again he smiled as he marvelled at his good fortune. He had never felt better in his entire life. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned before returning to the pile of ledgers on his desk.

A few minutes later he glanced up at a knock on the door and sat back in his chair as a Goblin entered, carrying an envelope.

'Mr Potter? Miss Granger? This just arrived,' the Goblin said as he handed the letter to Hermione. Harry decided to let her deal with it, although he was extremely curious as to what it was about. He waited patiently as Hermione read the parchment and felt a sudden alarm as he noticed that her hand had begun to shake.

'Harry?' she finally asked, unaware of his scrutiny.

'What is it?' he asked carefully.

'You really need to see this,' she replied, looking up at him. He noticed that she was regarding him with deep concern and it was with a growing sense of trepidation that he stood to approach her.

'What is it?' he repeated.

'It's from Kingsley,' she replied. 'It's a list of names of people who visited Azkaban around the time the Deatheaters escaped. I…I don't think you're going to like what I have to say. There's only one name that it could be. There's a name listed here that…' she paused, unable to continue.

'That what?' he replied quietly. 'A name that what?'

'A name that appears on all three lists, Harry. The Elf list; the Ministry list and the Azkaban list.'

Harry felt confused. _Surely this was good news? Why was she looking so upset?_

'Who is it then?'

Hermione squared herself and looked at him with determination.

'It's Tom Proudfoot, Harry. He's the only one it could have been. He's the one we've been looking for all along.'


	25. Realisation

**Realisation**

'It's Tom Proudfoot, Harry. He's the only one it could have been. He's the one we've been looking for all along.'

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in and when they did Harry could not immediately accept them. He moved away from her, almost as if she were contaminated in some way, and sank onto a nearby chair. He shook his head.

'It can't be, Hermione,' he finally managed. 'Tom is my friend; he's my partner. We've been through…'

'That doesn't matter, Harry,' Hermione replied, not unkindly. 'You mustn't let personal feelings cloud your judgment. Kingsley hit the nail on the head – no one is above suspicion. No one.'

'But Tom…'

'Tom is the only person who ticks all our boxes, damn it!' The anger was evident in her voice now. 'You have to be objective and look at this rationally.' Her voice softened. 'Harry? Someone has betrayed us – betrayed you. It is only someone that we trust that can do this to us. Think about this; look at the facts and pretend you don't know Tom. Act as if he isn't your friend and then tell me if you think he could be responsible for this. You have been more involved in this case than I have – you are a trained Auror and you know what to look for. Go over everything that has occurred and at least consider the possibility that Tom might be involved. Then tell me what you think.'

Harry took a deep breath and bit back the biting retort he had intended unleashing. _This isn't Hermione's fault. Think about this! She's right; you are supposed to be an Auror! Be objective. If it were anyone but Tom I would examine all the possibilities._

He closed his eyes for a few moments and thought about everything that had happened, all the while taking into consideration the possibility that Tom was involved. He reconstructed events in his head, all the while making an assumption about Tom's guilt – looking at things from his point of view. After a minute or two, he opened his eyes and regarded her solemnly. Having looked at the facts in a new light he realised that a number of possibilities had been opened up and he felt a cold rage sweep over him. _Oh, God._ _She's right; it has to be Tom. No one else fits the bill_. He noticed that Hermione had a concerned look on her face; that despite everything that had happened she was worried about how this latest revelation was affecting _him_. He shook his head, knowing that he had to relate what he had been thinking about. He decided to start at the beginning.

'The key,' he said softly.

Hermione looked confused for a moment. 'What about it?'

'The key to Draco's flat was missing from the evidence Dawlish sent us. When we went to looking for it, Tom was the one who managed to dig it out, wasn't he?' She nodded and he continued. 'He probably had it all along. He probably read Dawlish's report and realised that Modric had made a mistake. He probably removed it believing that no one would think to ask about it. After all, it was hardly crucial to the case.'

'That's possible, Harry,' began Hermione. 'What abou…'

'I'm not finished yet,' he interrupted. 'When I went to pick up the remainder of Ron's files I was worried about Dawlish and Blaise. Tom came with me to the archive room and watched me remove everything – even though I had just told the others I was only following up a probable dead lead. It never occurred to me that he might be involved but I reckon taking all of that stuff when I had said I only wanted to check a detail put the wind right up him. The decision to have a pop at you was probably taken after that. He would have known we were on to something.' He frowned in anger as he recalled the scene. 'The bastard was even cracking jokes with me.'

Hermione realised that this was difficult for him but she needed to be sure that he was thinking straight. She decided to adopt a dispassionate tone; almost as if she were a presiding judge. 'It's still a bit thin, Harry. It won't stand up in court,' she finally replied. She had already formed her own opinion and was more than ready to believe in Tom's guilt but she knew that the law would require proof.

'It doesn't need to,' he replied. 'I'm only getting warmed up. There were a couple of things about the raid that I couldn't work out – things that have been niggling away at me without me knowing why. Now I do,' he added grimly.

'What things?' she asked, clearly curious.

'I couldn't for the life of me work out what caused Blaise to trip. The idiot shouldn't have tried to force that gap but he was right; he _was_ making it through until he tripped. But there was nothing for him to trip over. Now I remember; it was Tom who alerted me to the danger. It was Tom who pointed out to me what Blaise was doing. He hissed a warning but he did it _before_ Blaise fell. When I turned to look he could have cast a jinx that made Blaise fall on his arse – he was behind me at that moment. There was no problem with Blaise until Tom pointed it out.'

'This is still only supposition,' replied Hermione, playing the role of Devil's advocate with aplomb, thought Harry. 'What else do you have?'

'_Fiendfyre_,' he replied. 'He couldn't risk us taking any of the Deatheaters alive because they would have revealed his involvement. When we got split up Tom went after Crabbe and I took Dolohov. Kingsley told me that Tom had stunned and bound Crabbe but I'd stake anything that he killed him. He had a problem then; he still had to deal with the other three. He must have decided to come after me first - he was behind me when Dolohov cast the flames.'

'So what does the _Fiendfyre_ have to do with this?' asked Hermione.

'Dolohov gave Tom the idea. It struck me at the time that the flames were spreading in all directions. That's not normal for that spell; you know what happened in the Room of Requirement – the flames come right for you first and _then_ destroy everything else. But during the raid only some of them came for me – the flames Dolohov cast. Tom must have cast his own spell in order to get the others. That's why the fire spread so fast and why it spread in every direction. He knew that the other escapees would probably be caught up in the flames too.'

'But Tom was the one who warned the others that you were still inside. It was Tom who got the wards lowered,' interjected Hermione, still intent on making sure of Harry's reasoning. She was glad to see that he could be objective about this.

'I know; but remember what Dolohov told me. _They want me alive_. I have no idea why, but they want me alive. He was just following orders.' He looked directly at her. 'I'm doing what you suggest, Hermione. I'm looking at this objectively. This is all guesswork but if he is involved then this would explain some of what happened. And we can't ignore the facts in front of us, I suppose. Tom is the only person who was at Azkaban when the Deatheaters escaped; who could order Modric around and who had the ability to lay the trap at your office.' He sighed after saying this. 'He's also capable of creating a few anonymous notes to lead the others in the direction he wanted. First Ron; then Draco; then you. He's probably the one who has been feeding Rita all the little scoops she's been getting recently too. He's one of the few people who were involved in all of this from the beginning. He was one of the first to know that you had agreed to help me. He would have been on the scene at Malfoy's arrest and he would have been heavily involved in the investigation into Ron's death too. Rita had very precise information on all of this so she had to be speaking to someone who was directly involved. I can't ignore all of this. It could be nothing more than coincidence but Kingsley taught me a long time ago not to believe in coincidence.'

Hermione nodded her agreement having already come to the same conclusion. It was obvious that Kingsley agreed too. 'So what now? Do we bring him in for questioning? Do we contact the Aurors?'

Harry smiled; a twisted grimace that showed what he felt about the whole thing. 'No; Kingsley sent this information to us for a reason.'

'What reason?'

'We don't have much time left – he's addressing the Wizengamot later today. If he had sent this through the proper channels then Robards would have to take charge and we don't know if he's involved too. Even if he's clean he would have to order a full internal inquiry and we wouldn't find out who is behind all of this in time to save Kingsley's job. The press would then find out too and would have a field day. Kingsley's position would be undermined even further. And there is also the possibility that we are dealing with a conspiracy; that there are more people involved. Tom isn't clever enough to come up with all of this on his own but he would be a useful ally to whoever is pulling the strings.'

Hermione considered all of this and reluctantly accepted that Harry was probably correct in believing that someone else was really running things. This was _politics_ and she did not even pretend to understand that particular game. She knew that Harry didn't appreciate it either but she was also aware that he had a more cynical view than her on what politicians were capable of. She supposed it was because he'd had plenty of bitter experience in dealing with politicians in the past. 'What do we do then?' she finally asked, her voice betraying her disapproval at the decision to allow Tom to remain at large.

'We use what we have.' He smiled. 'Tell me; do we have Tom's bank account ledger in here?'

Hermione nodded and he could detect a hint of colour on her cheeks.

'You didn't check it, did you?' he asked softly.

She reddened fully. 'No; I just assumed that Tom wouldn't be involved. He's your friend and you trusted him and I thought he was nice. I'm sorr…'

'Don't apologise,' he interjected. 'I wouldn't have checked him out either. And he can be a charming bastard when he wants to be. But now we know where to look. I suggest we start there. Who knows? It might lead us somewhere useful,' he added in a voice she had not heard from him before.

Hermione shuddered at the tone. She knew Harry so well; knew that he was open and honest and valued friendship and loyalty above everything. She also knew how he looked upon those that breached this trust and she was aware that Tom Proudfoot had a day of reckoning to face soon. When Harry did finally decide to take him down there wouldn't be anywhere on Earth for the turncoat to hide. She shook herself free of these thoughts and approached the pile of ledgers. Thinking about what was to come wouldn't hasten its arrival; they had a lot of work to do before then.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from the inevitable folder at the knock on his office door and smiled as Susan popped her head round to speak to him.

'Narcissa Malfoy is here to see you,' she said and Kingsley nodded as he placed the file on the desk.

'Give me a minute before sending her in please,' he replied and leaned back in his chair as Susan disappeared again. Once again he wondered if he were doing what was right and smiled ruefully to himself as he remembered the advice Dumbledore used to give to everyone who passed through his school. _One should always do what was right rather than what was easy_.

He knew that what he was doing certainly wasn't easy so he took some consolation from the fact that this should mean what he was doing was right. _Probably._

He sighed and got to his feet before pacing the floor of his office, deep in thought. Several hours had passed since he had taken the decision to send Harry the information he'd received from Azkaban and he wondered if he had acted correctly. He knew that the correct procedure would have been to relate his suspicions to Gawain Robards but he had refrained from doing so for two reasons. First; he did not know if Robards could be trusted as there existed the possibility that he was in collusion with Proudfoot. He smiled suddenly, aware that part of him was grimly amused at how he no longer could bring himself to call the man "Tom" anymore.

The second reason for acting as he did was because he knew he was running out of time. Harry and Hermione were probably his last hope of remaining in office and he fully intended to battle to cling on to his position. It was not the power that motivated him to do this - although in more reflective moments he would admit that the power was at least a part of his reasoning. But what really drove him was his desire to make a difference. He believed that his administration had been of benefit to his society and that he had done much to heal the wounds after the fall of Voldemort. The equality bill was to have been his crowning glory – his legacy to future generations. He believed in it passionately and now the bill was in jeopardy for when he made his announcement a few hours from now all hell was going to break loose. This was why he had sent the list to Harry; only he could save him now and only if he could uncover the conspiracy.

He sighed again, knowing that he was a victim of his own nature. He could never allow an innocent man to be Kissed and he knew – _knew_ – that Draco Malfoy was not involved in the death of Cho Chang. Unfortunately, his enemies also seemed to be aware of this fact. They had him cornered and had done it by using his own integrity. It just seemed difficult to believe that someone had planned all of this.

He looked up as his door opened once again and Narcissa Malfoy entered, outwardly looking as composed as ever. His trained eye noticed a few cracks in the façade, however. Despite the air of cold beauty that emanated from her he could see the strain evident in her eyes. The past week must have been hell on earth for her and as Draco's day of reckoning drew ever nearer she must have felt the burden of worry like a crushing weight. He smiled suddenly, realising that at least one good thing would happen as a result of his decision.

'Narcissa; thank you for agreeing to see me,' he began. 'Please; take a seat.'

Narcissa nodded her acknowledgment at the words but did not reply immediately. Instead, she took her time to sit down and waited until the Minister had done like wise. Only then did she feel the need to respond.

'I must say, Minister, I am certainly curious as to why you wish to see me. I received notification of the special session of the Wizengamot called for later today but I was surprised at your request for a personal interview too.'

'It is concerning the special session that I wanted to speak with you first,' he replied.

'Indeed?' asked Narcissa, an eyebrow raised.

'Yes,' he replied, feeling slightly discomfited under her cold scrutiny. 'I will be informing the Council later today that I will be invoking my right to use my Ministerial Prerogative. I will be telling them that I will not allow the Dementor's Kiss to be used as punishment if Draco is found guilty. I am required by law to declare this no later than twenty four hours before the trial is due to commence. The judge has already been informed; the session is just a legal formality.'

He watched her as the impact of his words finally hit home. It was a measure of the stress that she was under that it took a few moments for the implications to sink in. She opened her mouth in surprise before the ice finally cracked and she placed her head in her hands and began to sob quietly with relief.

'Oh, thank Merlin,' she whispered and Kingsley felt deeply uncomfortable at her reaction. He grabbed some blank parchment from the corner of his desk and quickly transfigured it into a box of tissues before sliding them across to her. She gratefully took a handful and dabbed at her eyes.

'Please accept my apologies, Minister,' Narcissa began. 'I am…'

'There is no need to apologise,' he replied with a smile. 'It is perfectly understandable. This past week cannot have been easy for you.'

She nodded her agreement before looking him directly in the eye. 'How can I ever thank you?' she asked.

Kingsley grimaced. 'Don't thank me. Thank Harry and Hermione. They uncovered enough to convince me that Draco has been framed.' He sighed. 'Unfortunately, they have not managed to discover who is responsible. _Yet_,' he added meaningfully.

'So Draco will still stand trial?' Narcissa asked.

Kingsley nodded. 'I'm afraid so but with what your Soul Thief has discovered I believe that there is enough element of doubt to acquit him. But even if he is convicted he will only be sent to Azkaban. At least then you will have the opportunity to appeal and have the time to investigate further. It is the best I can do.'

'It is more than I could have ever hoped for, Minister. Again; thank you.' She paused before continuing. 'I have some idea what this decision may cost you. You will not have your enemies to seek after you announce this. Has it occurred to you…?'

'It has occurred to me, Narcissa. I am not yet without all hope. Harry refuses to give up – he believes he can still uncover the truth. Even now he is working away on the case despite my decision.'

Narcissa smiled at these words and it occurred to Kingsley that this was probably the first genuine smile he had seen from her all week. The relief of Draco's reprieve had obviously worked wonders for her.

'It would not be Harry if he were to throw in the towel, would it?' she asked. 'Has he anything new to go on?'

Kingsley considered the question and gauged just how much he should reveal to her. 'We had a possible break in the case earlier today. I trusted only Harry with checking it out and I would be grateful if you could keep this to yourself.' He glanced at his watch. 'He only has a few hours to come through for us but I believe if anyone can do it, he can. And Hermione of course.'

Narcissa's smile broadened even further. 'Of course, Minister,' she repeated. 'Where would Mr Potter be without Miss Granger, I wonder?' She stood suddenly and held out her hand. 'You will forgive me if I take my leave of you? I must inform my son of your decision. His torture has gone on long enough.'

Kingsley stood too and took the proffered hand. He shook it but as he made to release his grip she tightened her hold on it. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'From the bottom of my heart; thank you.'

He could only smile as she finally released him and turned towards the door. He'd been correct; _at least one good thing was going to happen as a result of my decision._

As he sat down he was content; he had done what was right and avoided the easy path.

_Now it was all down to Harry._

Harry sat back in is chair and rubbed his face with both hands, his fingers rubbing up behind his glasses as he did so. They had been looking at dusty old ledgers for hours and had discovered some interesting things but so far the answer still eluded them. He'd needed to take a break as the numbers were beginning to swim before his eyes but he had not managed to convince Hermione to let up and as he glanced in her direction he noticed that she still had her head down buried in yet another ledger. He smiled as he saw the fierce concentration on her face and marvelled at her focus.

They had found some inconsistencies immediately when they had opened Tom's ledger. There were a number of unexplained transactions – including one for a very large amount of Galleons that had been paid into his account and then removed on the same day. That the date in question was three days before the Azkaban breakout was more than a coincidence and he was now convinced that this was a part of what Cho had discovered and had wanted to tell Ron.

But they still hadn't worked out who was behind the money. All they could discover next to this particular transaction were the initials "T.K." These letters appeared regularly in the account and when they had examined a few other ledgers they discovered that they appeared regularly in these books too. Unfortunately, "TK" could mean anyone – or indeed, anything. All that they could say for certain was that a lot of money was changing hands from one account to another. Until they discovered the source, they had nothing to take to Kingsley.

He leaned back and spotted the two copies of the _Daily Prophet_ that lay on the desk. Picking up the top copy, he flicked it open and realised that it was the edition from the previous week – from the day after Cho died. He looked once again at the photograph atop the article on Chang's party and studied it intensely. Something was telling him that the answer was here; that at least one of the people in the room that night was involved somehow, but he still could not grasp what it was. He felt the frustration rise within him. _We're so close!_

'Are you still clutching at straws, Harry?' asked Hermione with a smile and he was shaken from his thoughts at the question.

He smiled, glad she could still joke about things. 'I just needed a break. These ledgers are beginning to do my head in. You know me; study was never my strongest suit.'

She smiled in return. 'No; it wasn't. I seem to remember having to bail you out a few times at school. You were never the most methodical of students.'

'No; I was more of an…improviser,' he replied.

'You mean you made it up as you went along?'

'Pretty much. Hey; I didn't do too badly, did I? Sometimes my methods worked out OK,' he added defensively.

'Sometimes they did,' she allowed, still smiling. 'But sometimes the way you looked at things were…unique,' she added, congratulating herself on her tact.

'Unique? That's one way of putting it I suppose,' he replied, feigning affront. 'But you have told me before that sometimes you need to take a new angle on thi…'

'What is it?' Hermione asked a touch alarmed at the way he tailed off in mid-sentence. She watched as his eyes narrowed and realised that something had occurred to him. She decided not to speak; decided instead to allow him to follow whatever new train of thought had entered his head. She noticed that he sat up straighter; that his breathing had quickened and she knew that he was on to something. He was studying the newspaper again, his eyes drawn towards the photograph at the top of the page and she realised that he had the same look of the hunter in his eyes as he did when seeking the snitch.

Time passed. Whether it was a few seconds or a few minutes she did not know such was the intensity with which she watched her man as he mulled over whatever new idea had presented itself. She didn't even speak when he suddenly stood up and approached the pile of books in the corner before beginning to flip open ledgers, one after the other, tossing unwanted ones over his shoulder until he found what he was looking for. She noticed that he had separated a few from the pile and she could contain herself no longer.

'What is it?' she finally asked and she realised that she was shaking where she sat.

He turned to face her and she could see the excitement written all over his face. She held her breath.

'I think I know who is behind all of this, Hermione,' he finally answered in a low voice and she felt her own sense of elation as she recognised the truth in his eyes.

'I need some parchment,' he continued. 'And a quill. We are going to have to pick up some of the papers from your apartment too. I have a few ideas to confirm and I'm going to need your brains to do it.' He took a deep breath.

'We've got the bastards, Hermione. We've got them!'

She didn't know what to say in response – didn't even know who or what he was talking about. But she knew her man and knew by his reaction that they did indeed have them.

Soon, someone was going to pay.

Kingsley Shacklebolt approached the Council chamber with the same feelings as one that was walking to meet the executioner. He had told only Harry, Hermione, Arthur Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy of his reasons for calling the special session and as he approached the great double doors of the chamber he caught more than one member cast a curious glance in his direction. He didn't know for certain how his decision would be greeted – all he did know was that some of the more conservative elements of the Wizengamot (not to mention the numerous enemies of Lucius Malfoy) would not be too enamoured when they discovered that Draco was not to be Kissed. The attitudes of some of his political colleagues disgusted him at times and he was well aware that if Voldemort had triumphed he would not have had any trouble in finding willing allies for his cause. It was yet another dream of his – political reform – but he knew that this would be a slow process. The equality bill was the first step on that long road and his great fear was that his dream might be strangled at birth.

He nodded affably to John Dawlish and Blaise Zabini who stood guard at the entrance to the chamber. He had decided to allow Blaise to return to his duties. He was convinced that the man had been the victim of a cheap trick and so had found no further cause to punish him. Besides; he had an inkling that they might need every loyal man soon enough.

As he passed into the chamber his eyes scanned the room until they alighted on the two Aurors standing guard by the Minister's lectern. He recognised the stocky stature of Mark Savage and the tall form of Tom Proudfoot who stood next to him. He nodded to them both, concealing his anger and suppressing the desire to pull out his wand and curse Tom Proudfoot here and now. He _knew_ the man was a traitor but he didn't have enough proof yet. He could only pray that Harry had found something of use but so far this was proving to be a forlorn hope.

He took his seat and waited patiently as the benches around him filled up with the movers and shakers of the magical world. He acknowledged a few greetings; ignored a few others and generally concealed his impatience as the seats slowly began to fill. After about ten minutes the great doors were swung shut and the last of the council members took their seats. He wasn't surprised to notice that it was Lucius Malfoy who was the last to take his place and he wondered vaguely if Narcissa had informed her husband of what was about to be declared.

He shrugged, dismissing this as irrelevant. He strode to the lectern and surveyed the room, smiling as he did so. He took a sip from a glass of water placed discreetly by his right hand and looked up to address the council.

'My dear colleagues,' he began, 'I have called you here today to…'he stopped abruptly. Stopped because the attention in the room was not on him – rather it was on a commotion that could be heard on the other side of the great doors. He paused, frowning at the interruption and turned to order Mark Savage to investigate. People were on their feet trying to catch a glimpse of what was occurring and he was just about to call for order when the great doors crashed open and Harry strode in, Hermione at his side.

Kingsley said nothing, instead allowing an eyebrow to rise in question. Harry didn't speak; didn't react to the shouting and yelling going on all around him. It was yet another of his grand entrances and as Kingsley watched him he looked directly into his eyes and smiled before giving an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

What Kingsley felt at that moment was almost the same as his emotional state when Voldemort had been destroyed. He felt a surge of hope well up within him. Hope and pride; hope for the future and pride in the young man who had once again overcome all the odds and personal tragedy to come through for them all.

He smiled at his friend. Smiled and stood down to approach him. As he neared Harry leaned in towards him.

'We've got them, Kingsley. We know who did it.'


	26. Denouement

**Denouement**

Harry pounded along the Ministry corridors, Hermione in his wake as they dashed towards the Wizengamot chamber in order to prevent Kingsley from announcing his decision. They were both carrying a number of documents and ledgers and these items were hindering their progress somewhat but this couldn't be helped – they needed what was within. It had been an eventful afternoon; they had gathered together the ledgers that he knew they would need before heading over to the flat in order to sift through some of the documents that they already possessed. He hadn't been kidding; he'd needed a quill and parchment in order to formulate and order the sudden idea that had flitted across his mind in the office at Gringotts.

Hermione had shown remarkable patience. She hadn't pressed him for information until he was ready and they had spent the afternoon jotting down ideas and suppositions. He'd found the scribbled notes that he'd written a few days before when Hermione was in the bath and – delighted – he was able to use this to explain to Hermione his sudden insight into the case. Of course, she had been able to add her own thoughts and ideas and between them they had finally managed to piece together the puzzle that had been tormenting them all week.

They now knew who was responsible.

He started to slow down when he neared the great double doors of the chamber and inwardly groaned when he realised that they had been slammed shut. His temper was not enhanced by the sight of John Dawlish and Blaise Zabini who were evidently standing guard.

_Shit._

He halted in front of the two men and paused to catch his breath, waiting for Hermione to catch up. Once she arrived next to him he looked up and regarded the two men in front of him, letting the books he was carrying fall to the floor as he did so.

'What do you want, Potter?' sneered Dawlish and Harry had to resist the urge to hex him. Right now he needed to keep his head for it was vital that he gain entry to the chamber.

'I need to speak to the Minister,' he replied in as civil a tone as he could manage. 'I think he might want to hear what I have to say.'

'Impossible,' snapped Dawlish. 'The session has just this moment commenced. You know the rules; only members of the Wizengamot and invited spectators are allowed entry. Once the doors close, no one gets in.'

Harry contained his anger at the man's intransigence. 'Look, Dawlish; this is important. Kingsley needs to hear what I have to say. He will _want_ to hear it.'

'He will have to wait until later to hear it, Potter. Now bugger off.'

Harry let out a deep sigh. 'Dawlish?'

'Yes?'

'You know how you and I have never really gotten on? How we always seem to be at loggerheads?'

'Yes? What of it?'

'Well, I always wondered about this. You see; generally I get on with people. But not with you; never with you.'

'So?'

'So I always wondered why. Now I finally know. Please accept my apologies.'

'Apologies? What for?'

'For this,' he replied before stepping forward and landing a crashing right hook to the side of Dawlish's head, knocking him flying into the great doors with an almighty crash. Before Dawlish had even reached the ground, Harry had his wand out and stunned his superior officer into oblivion.

'Ow! That bloody hurt!' he exclaimed as he nursed his right hand. He looked up to see the astonished expression on the face of Blaise who still hadn't reacted to the sudden attack. He was pleased to note, however, that Hermione had her wand levelled at the man's chest.

'Now it is up to you how this goes, Blaise. Either you open the bloody door or you join your pal here on the floor.' He leaned forward. 'I _must_ speak to Kingsley. I have solved the Malfoy case. Now are you going to get in my way?'

Blaise backed up against the door and shook his head. He unsealed it and swung it open with a shaking hand.

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'Now make yourself useful and go and fetch Draco Malfoy from his cell. And once you have done that, pick up all this shit and carry it in for me,' he said, gesturing to the pile of documents on the floor. 'I'll need them for later,' he added as he made for the doors. He waited for Hermione to join him and both entered the chamber together.

He was immediately aware of the noise emanating from the packed benches around him and he felt a surge of amusement as he realised that he was making a habit of grand entrances these days. He glanced up to the head of the room and spotted Kingsley regarding him with a quizzical expression. He smiled at his friend and gave a slight nod of his head. Kingsley smiled and stepped down from the lectern before hastening to join him. Harry leaned in towards him.

'We've got them Kingsley. We know who did it,' he whispered. He saw the impact that his words had on his friend. Kingsley's eyes widened and a broad grin slowly spread across his face. 'Might I have the floor, Minister?' he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Kingsley nodded. 'You may, Mr Potter,' he replied. 'Give me a minute; I'll just tell everyone what's happening,' he added before hastening back to the lectern.

Harry knew that he was the centre of attention at that moment so turned to Hermione and gave her a small nod. She understood his gesture and casually stepped back from him in order to carry out the plan they had hastily formulated back at her flat. He was confident that no one would pay her much attention; that all eyes were on himself and Kingsley at that moment and it was with some relief that he saw her slip into the background unnoticed.

He scanned the chamber quickly taking careful note of who was present as he did so. His eyes swept over Tom Proudfoot but he did not acknowledge the man. He spotted Gawain Robards and Cornelius Fudge; Cheng-Jung Chang, Judge Matthias Swing and Cuthbert Mockridge. Looking up a bit he noticed both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and as he quickly scanned the public gallery he was pleased to notice a gaggle of reporters, Rita Skeeter among them, her Kwik Quotes Quill slashing furiously across a piece of parchment.

_Good_. He'd wanted as public a forum as he could get and the full chamber of the Wizengamot allied to the presence of the media had granted him his wish.

He heard a sudden commotion behind him and realised that Blaise had done as bidden for Draco Malfoy had entered the room, Blaise himself struggling behind with the pile of papers. He locked eyes with his former enemy and gave him a small nod. Surprisingly, Draco managed a thin smile before he looked away, turning his attention towards his mother and hastening to join her on the benches.

He turned away from him to face the head of the room as Kingsley's voice could be heard over the throng, his deep tones appealing for silence.

'Ladies and Gentlemen! Your attention please!' He waited until the noise had simmered down before continuing. 'I had intended making an important announcement in relation to the fate of Draco Malfoy but it appears that Mr Potter has news pertaining to the case that is of more significance than my own information. I thus respectfully yield the floor to Mr Potter who will, I am sure, be grateful for your silence and attention.'

Within an instant one could have heard a pin drop in the room. Harry tried to remain nonchalant as every eye in the chamber turned to wards him and he took a deep breath before speaking. He hadn't worked out what he was going to say and it was with some amusement that he realised he would have to improvise. He supposed it was his "unique" way of dealing with things. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a shout from the benches.

'I object most strongly to this, Minister!' exclaimed a voice and Harry turned to the source and found himself gazing on the irate countenance of Gawain Robards. 'Mr Potter has no right to speak in this Chamber. He is not a member of the Council and should not be allowed to speak. This is not a courtroom, after all. And I also object to the presence of a suspected murderer,' he added, pointing directly at Draco.

Harry never replied immediately; instead he slowly approached his boss, the only sound in the chamber being that of his footsteps as he strode across the room.

'It _was_ a courtroom once,' he said in a low growl. 'I was called before this "council" when I was fifteen on a charge of underage magic,' he continued, his voice steadily getting louder. 'I have spoken in this chamber before and I will do so again and no one has the right to gainsay me! No one!' he exclaimed, hammering his fist on the bench. He turned and swept his arm around the room 'I am the Soul Thief of Draco Malfoy and I am reporting my findings! At the moment he is a suspect; when I am finished that will no longer be the case. To interfere with me is to break the law! Does anyone dare challenge me in this?'

He had been making it up as he went along but noticed that not a sound could be heard in the room save for the furious scratching of quills from the public gallery. It occurred to him with amusement that his name could be useful at times. He was Harry Potter; the "boy-who-lived"; the "Chosen One" and the "destroyer of the Dark Lord" and his name still carried a lot of weight in this world. No one was going to call his bluff. He found himself struggling to contain a grin as he turned back to Kingsley.

'Thank you, Minister, for ceding me the floor,' he said formally and began to pace the room, deep in thought. After a few moments he finally stopped to address his audience.

'You all know what I have been doing this past week. You are all aware of the charges levelled against Draco Malfoy; of the heinous murder of Cho Chang. You will also know of the recent destruction of the escaped Deatheaters. What you will not know is that these two cases are related; that they are in fact one case - although I am prepared to admit that it is split into two halves.'

He turned and commenced his pacing once again. 'In order to fully understand what has occurred, to fully appreciate why Cho Chang was murdered; we must go back eleven months to the time of the death of Ron Weasley. As many of you will be aware, Cho worked for Gringotts managing the accounts of those within our community who prefer to deal with humans rather than Goblins. I am not here to pass judgement on such behaviour but it is worth noting that if the people responsible had deigned to allow a Goblin to manage their accounts then none of this would have happened. Goblins are renowned for their discretion and none of what I am about to reveal would ever have seen the light of day. It's quite ironic when you think about it,' he added, the amusement evident in his tone.

He stopped pacing once again and turned to face the benches. 'But Cho was not a Goblin and lacked their discretion. She discovered some…irregularities in some of the bank accounts and approached my friend, Ronald Weasley, with her concerns. I know this because of an entry in her diary that mentions a meeting with him. Ron now became privy to this knowledge and it ultimately cost him his life,' he added in a quiet voice. He had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand now; not a whisper could be heard. He paused for a moment and scanned the room seeking out those that looked worried. He noted with satisfaction that the people looking nervous were the one's he'd expected to be nervous.

'So what had Cho discovered?' he continued. 'What was so incriminating that it cost Ron his life? Well; I can now answer that. Cho had discovered various cash transfers in a number of the accounts she dealt with. In isolation, each transfer seemed innocent enough, but Cho was able to examine the bigger picture. She could see a pattern - a trail; one that led to the person responsible for breaking the Deatheaters out of Azkaban.'

An audible gasp could be heard from some of the members of the council but Harry ignored this. He turned once again to face Kingsley. 'This leads us to the second half of the case. The Minister here,' he said, gesturing towards Kingsley, 'always maintained that the escapees must have had help to break out of the prison. This lead was pursued vigorously but nothing came of it. I do not say this to condemn; I merely mention it because the investigators at the time were not aware of all the facts and as a result did not realise that no one was above suspicion. We know better now.'

He paused for a moment as he caught Hermione in the corner of his eye as she quietly made her way round the back of the room. So far, no one had paid her the slightest attention and he reminded himself that he must continue to speak in the singular. It was crucial that no one realise that she was here.

'Because I was willing to suspect everyone I was able to piece together what happened. The day before the breakout, the prison was visited by someone on official business. I believe that individual is responsible for aiding the escapees. Whether it was by slipping them a wand or some other such device is irrelevant. What isn't irrelevant is the identity of this individual.' He knew he was dragging this out but he had to wait until Hermione was in place. 'I looked again at the prison visitor log and cross checked the names with the bank accounts I had in my possession thanks to the courtesy and co-operation of Ragnok, the chief Goblin at Gringotts.'

He glanced to the back of the room and realised that Hermione had made it. He ploughed on, recommencing his pacing as he did so. 'Once I knew what to look for, the rest was easy. I discovered a substantial payment made to an individual on that list; a payment made for services rendered. It is sufficient proof to identify the culprit and that person will be extremely nervous right now. Isn't that right, Tom?' he asked, acid in his voice as he spun and pointed an accusing finger at his partner. The collective intake of breath from the watching gallery was almost enough to suck the air out of the room.

Tom Proudfoot struggled to contain the bile rising in his throat. He could _taste_ the fear. He had been feeling quite secure as Harry had commenced his little speech, believing that there was no proof against him, but as his partner had elaborated on what he had discovered he had begun to feel more and more worried. When Harry had then mentioned the bank accounts and the Azkaban list he'd known that the game was up; that his double dealing had been uncovered. He had momentarily clung on to the belief that there was no proof of his involvement but he now realised that this was a forlorn hope. He didn't intend to go quietly though and had been considering his options when Harry had rounded on him in fury.

He reacted instinctively, reaching into his robes and pulling his wand out in a flash. He began to straighten his arm to take aim, was aware of people starting to duck for cover when he felt a sharp jab in the side of his neck.

'Don't even think about it,' hissed a voice and it took him a few seconds to realise that it was Hermione Granger who spoke and who had the tip of her wand pressed tightly against his neck. 'I've never killed anyone in my life but, so help me, I could easily start with you; you bastard. Drop it! Now!' she added as she pressed harder with her wand.

Tom Proudfoot was not a coward but he believed the words spoken to him; believed that she would cut him down if he did not obey. He sagged in defeat and let go of his wand and closed his eyes in despair as it clattered on the ground, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. He felt himself being thrust forwards into the centre of the room and when he looked up he was confronted by Harry who had a murderous look on his face.

For his part, Harry stood in a cold rage as he confronted the man responsible for so much death. He'd held out a faint hope that perhaps Tom was innocent; that maybe it was all coincidence, but the actions of the man in drawing his wand had confirmed his guilt. Now as he looked on him he realised that the pathetic creature was not even worthy of his contempt. He nodded to Hermione who immediately conjured some ropes and bound Tom tight.

'Well; that simplifies things a little, I think,' he said dryly. 'You all saw that!' he exclaimed as he turned to the room at large. 'You saw him reach for his wand!' He turned back to face Tom. 'I reckon we had enough proof anyway, but you've gave yourself away, Tom. Shall I tell the others what really happened?' he asked caustically. He did not wait for a reply.

'You were approached and asked to help. You were promised many things – not least a pile of cash. You went to Azkaban under some pretence – probably claiming to interview a suspect or something and when you were there you helped the Deatheaters to escape. So far, so simple. Who would suspect you, Tom?' He leaned forward so that his nose almost touched the traitor's. 'But then things got complicated, didn't they? You discovered what Ron was working on – I don't know how; either he confronted you or he told Robards who let slip to you but that doesn't matter. What matters is that you knew he was a threat so you contacted your new pals and everything was arranged; wasn't it? It was you who sent the anonymous note, you bastard. You knew where Ron and I used to go for lunch; it was so easy for you to time it so that we would be first on the scene. You also knew us both well enough to know that we would want to investigate ourselves!'

He realised that he was shouting and it was with an almost physical effort that he calmed himself. Tom said nothing and his silence was all Harry needed to know. 'The plan worked perfectly, didn't it? We walked right into it. The only failure was that you only managed to wound me. It was at that point that the decision was taken to let me live.'

'Why?' interrupted Kingsley who was looking at Tom as if he was about to attack him. 'Why did they let you live?'

'I'll get to that soon enough, Kingsley; don't worry. First we have to tell Mr Proudfoot's story. You see; Tom thought he was safe; thought he had eliminated the threat. What he didn't know was that the real danger was Cho, not Ron. Cho wasn't stupid; she knew why Ron had been killed and she must have been terrified. She lay low for months – eleven moths to be precise – but then she had the misfortune to take someone into her confidence at her father's party. Someone she thought she could trust, but that trust was sadly misplaced. That person was in on it too and recognised the danger. Cho never had an appointment that night; the note was sent to her after the threat was realised. Once she left her father's house she was as good as dead.'

'Who did she speak to?' asked Kingsley.

'I'll get to that in a minute. First we have to finish poor Cho's tale. Tom here was the killer; he was the man who did the deed. But then he had a problem. How did he dispose of such a high profile body? This was the daughter of one of our most influential families; her disappearance would be noticed immediately.' He turned and gestured to the Malfoys. 'So it was at this point that Draco entered our sorry tale.'

'Why Draco?' asked Kingsley.

'Two reasons,' replied Hermione, much to the surprise of everyone, save Harry. She became aware that the attention in the room had switched to her; that several members were regarding her with disdain and that even here her Muggle origins caused discomfort. She straightened her shoulders and squared her jaw. 'Two reasons,' she repeated. 'The first was revenge. Lucius Malfoy had been approached by the escapees and asked for help. He was told that it was the last chance he had to restore his family's honour after Narcissa lied to Voldemort the night he was destroyed. Lucius declined to help, thus leaving his family open to revenge attacks.'

'And the second reason?' asked Kingsley.

'That would be political,' she replied. 'Someone saw an opportunity to cause you grief, Minister. Someone knew that if Draco Malfoy were to be threatened with the Kiss then you would be in an untenable situation. Either you upset the conservatives or alienate the liberals; whatever you decided to do. This was a wedge that could be driven into the support for the equality bill that you had taken so long to construct. Regardless of what the outcome of Draco's trial was, you were bound to lose support.'

'The decision to frame Draco was taken in haste,' said Harry as he picked up the tale. 'Tom didn't have much time to act but either he or one of his associates came up with the idea of using an Elf. Using a personal elf was out of the question but a Ministry elf would do just as well. Tom summoned Modric and instructed him to plant Cho's body in Draco's apartment. Modric was told to make it look as if no one else had been in the room and to wipe the memory of Draco. Of course; the investigation didn't discover the presence of the memory charm. After all; when do we ever pay attention to House Elves?' he asked bitterly. 'We never even considered the possibility.' He gestured to Tom. 'This bastard then sent the anonymous tip off to Dawlish and the rest you know. Draco was caught with a dead woman in his bed and covered in her blood with no memory of what had happened. Quite a spot.'

'This all seems rather far-fetched,' interrupted Robards and Harry turned to his boss and regarded him piteously. 'I haven't even got to the real culprits yet,' he said disdainfully. 'Tom was just the leg-man; just a patsy if things went wrong. He wasn't the one calling the shots.'

'So who was?' asked Kingsley.

'Someone who stood to gain if you fell from office,' replied Hermione. 'Someone who knows how to mount a political attack and someone extremely well connected in our society. Someone who Cho Chang would trust owing to his relationship with her father,' she added.

'Who then?' asked Robards.

Harry turned to face one of the men responsible. 'Cornelius Fudge,' he replied quietly.

A stunned silence greeted these words as all eyes in the room turned to the ex-Minister. Fudge stood with an incredulous expression on his face for a moment. Then he began to laugh.

'Very good, Harry,' he said, clapping his hands ironically. 'Very good indeed. Quite a tale you have weaved. Quite a story you have concocted. Of course, it is arrant nonsense.'

'Is it?' asked Harry. 'I don't think it is. You see; we know what happened. We know what you have been doing.'

Fudge turned to address Kingsley. 'Minister, I see no benefit in allowing Mr Potter to continue with this nonsense. For too long have we indulged him. He is no longer a boy; he is a man now and must face the consequences of casting such scurrilous accusations. My record speaks for itself; I am known to all in this chamber. I have been working tirelessly for the Minister - and for your friend Miss Granger - and this is the thanks I get?' he looked around the room, clearly affronted. 'I am sure that no one takes these absurd accusations seriously. My record speaks for itself.'

Harry could hear a few murmurs of agreement at these words but knew how to deal with that. 'We do know your record, _Cornelius_,' he began, the contempt evident in his voice. 'We all know it well. "Cornelius Fudge; he always means well; always does his best and always tries to find the middle ground. An affable man is Cornelius. Wouldn't hurt a fly."' He looked grim as he said this in a sing song voice. 'But your record _does_ speak for itself. Let us not forget that it was Cornelius Fudge who ordered that Barty Crouch Jnr be Kissed without a trial. That it was Cornelius Fudge who tried to get me to be his poster boy and who made my life hell. Cornelius Fudge who libelled me in the press for over a year; who tried to have me expelled from Hogwarts; who appointed a Headmistress who was willing to use Unforgivable Curses on students; who supported her discriminatory policies against non-humans. Oh yes; we know your record very well indeed, _Cornelius_.'

'Minister?' interjected Fudge. 'Mr Potter has clearly taken leave of his senses. This is obviously a personal attack for past…differences between us. I demand that he retract these accusations – or at the very least he provide proof,' he added smugly.

'Oh, I have proof; don't worry about that,' Harry cut in. 'You see; there were a number of aspects in this case that bothered me.' He began to pace again as he spoke. 'One of them was that Willie Widdershins had been roped in against his will to supply the escapees with what they needed. I couldn't work out why. I mean; why Willie? He's the worst bloody crook in the world. He makes Mundugus Fletcher look like a master criminal. Willie told me he had been recommended to them; that someone had given them his name. Then it occurred to me; he did a little job for you too once, didn't he? Or at least; he did a job for your stooge, Umbrage, spying on me and my friends. You did a little deal for him, didn't you? Had some pending charges against him dropped?'

'Is that the best you can do, Harry?' asked Fudge contemptuously.

'I haven't even started yet. You mention the work you have been doing for Kingsley and Hermione?'

'Yes! I have worked tirelessly on their behalf.'

'Worked?' scoffed Harry. 'You call attending dozens of social gatherings work? Oh, I have no doubt that you paid Hermione lip-service; that you convinced a few people to vote for change. But you were doing something else too, weren't you? You were taking the opportunity to network; to build support for yourself if Kingsley lost. If Kingsley were to fall then who would replace him? There are no obvious candidates – only Robards and I don't think people would accept a third Minister in a row from the Aurors. So that really only leaves you. Kingsley said it himself; you were a successful peacetime Minister and people would view you as a safe bet.'

'This is ridiculous!' exclaimed Fudge. 'I don't have to listen to this! I still haven't heard any proof.'

'I'm getting there,' replied Harry. 'But first we must deal with your accomplice, isn't that right, Cuthbert?' he asked, turning on Mockridge who looked as if he had been slapped. 'You were both in it together, weren't you? You hated – _hated _– the fact that a Muggle born woman had taken your job and was proving so much better at it than you. Fudge promised you your old job back, didn't he? Promised you to get rid of the "Mudblood." Perhaps Cho overheard you at her father's party? The two of you scheming away.' He turned back to Tom Proudfoot. 'No doubt a promotion was in the offing for you too? Head of the Auror Division if Fudge got in?' He did not wait for a reply.

Once again, a profound silence greeted these accusations and Harry had the feeling that he was beginning to convince his audience. He waited for a response but could see that Mockridge had been stunned into silence. He was not surprised when Fudge spoke once again.

'Minister! I insist that Mr Potter stop this immediately or I will be forced to call in my legal representatives.'

'Call them,' replied Harry. 'You're going to need them soon because I'm nearly done. Just a few loose ends to tie up' He looked down at his feet, deciding how to proceed. 'You realised that Cho had uncovered the plot; knew that she was a threat so you ordered Tom to get rid of her. Draco was framed and then the Dementor's Kiss sought. Of course, this was sure to be granted because the Judge had been bought too. But none of this was your idea, was it? You're not the brains behind all of this; you could never come up with anything so clever.'

Fudge looked confused for a moment. 'So now you are saying I am not involved? Make up your mind, Potter,' he said derisively.

'Oh, you were involved. You stood to gain and went along with the whole thing. It was you who ordered Cho killed. But it wasn't your idea to frame Draco, was it?' He paused for a moment and approached Blaise before taking a handful of bank ledgers from him. 'You keep asking for proof? Well; here it is, Cornelius. This is what Cho discovered all those months ago. This is the knowledge that uncovered the conspiracy; the knowledge Ron Weasley died for.' He noted with satisfaction that Fudge had turned pale; that he was sweating profusely and that his bluster finally seemed to be at an end. He flipped open a ledger.

'This is yours, Cornelius. Quite a wealthy man, aren't you? You seem to have a generous benefactor; one who has made quite a number of payments to you. T.K.? And,' he continued as he flipped open another book, 'you too are well off, Cuthbert. And here we are; T.K. again – and again; and again,' he added, pointing to each incriminating entry as he spoke. 'I wish I had such a generous friend.' He opened a third book. 'Judge Swing received numerous payments from T.K over the years that coincide with some very high profile cases. This is how they could be sure that the Kiss would be sought for Draco, putting Kingsley in such a tight spot when they did so.' He came to the last ledger. 'And this is yours, Tom and this is the most revealing one of all. Payments from T.K. all over it like a rash but this one in particular caught my interest,' he said, pointing to a specific transaction. 'Three days before the Azkaban breakout twenty thousand Galleons were paid into your account by T.K. and then withdrawn by you immediately. A sizeable amount; enough I suspect to house and supply four escaped Deatheaters _and_ have change to spare.' He closed the book with a snap. 'So the thousand Galleon question facing us was; who is T.K.?'

No one said a word at this revelation as each member of the chamber considered his words. What had seemed a fanciful story now had a look of plausibility about it. Harry strode back over to Blaise and handed him back the ledgers before turning to face Kingsley again.

'Throughout this case I have received one piece of advice from a number of people,' he said.

'What advice?' asked Kingsley.

Harry smiled at his friend. 'To follow the money,' he replied. 'Its good advice and particularly relevant in this case,' he added gesturing at the ledgers. 'But "follow the money" doesn't necessarily mean cash; it's just a simplified way of asking "who stands to gain?" Or in this instance, "Who is gaining?" There was one aspect that has been troubling me; one thing that I couldn't explain.'

Kingsley frowned as he considered this. 'What was that?'

'Why the decision was taken to let me live the day Ron was killed. I was a sitting duck and yet I was allowed to live. Dolohov told me that the decision was taken _after _I was wounded.' He smiled. 'It was Hermione who realised the significance of this - who decided? Because whoever did decide is the person really calling the shots.' He paused for a moment and pulled a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from his pocket. 'I was looking at this earlier,' he said holding it up for all to see. 'It's the edition from the day after Cho was killed and it has a society article on her father's party. You see; I have been convinced for a while that the party was significant; that something happened there that caused all of this to happen; that Cho saw or heard something she shouldn't have. I was looking at the photograph – at Fudge and Mockridge and all the others - and I was convinced that the person responsible was present when it was taken. And then Hermione advised me to look at things from a different angle and it suddenly occurred to me; there are two ends to a photograph. Those being snapped and the person holding the camera. That's when it hit me. T.K.'

'So who is T.K?' asked Kingsley.

'The answer is in the article too,' began Harry as he began to write letters in the air with his wand. The onlookers watched in rapt attention as they began to form into shape. Finally a name could be discerned.

Teresa Kiter.

Laughter greeted this revelation but Harry had been expecting it.

'Teresa Kiter?' asked Robards once he had stopped laughing. 'The society columnist? I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.'

'Are you sure?' snapped Harry. 'Do you know Teresa? Have you spoken to her?'

Robards frowned. 'No, I suppose not. She keeps a low profile.'

'Of course she does,' replied Harry, 'because she is not everything she seems to be. She's an invention; she's a cover for someone else. She's a disguise.'

'So who is she?' asked Robards.

Harry didn't reply immediately. Instead he began to rearrange the letters. 'This is an old trick,' he said nonchalantly. 'There is a flaw in the character of certain people. They think they are cleverer than everyone else and that we won't work things out. But I've actually seen this particular trick before. Voldemort did it to me when I was twelve.'

He said nothing else but continued to rearrange the letters. After a few seconds, another name could be read.

Rita Skeeter.

The reaction to this revelation was predictable. People rose to their feet shouting and all eyes in the room turned to the bespectacled witch who sat impassively in the public gallery. Harry noted with amusement that her quill had stopped writing for once.

'Rita Skeeter?' asked Kingsley, incredulously.

'Yes,' he replied. 'Rita. Who stands to gain? Who would rather keep me alive? Rita.' He strode towards her and could not help but smile.

'You see, Rita had fallen on hard times. I don't mean financially; I mean professionally. _The Quibbler_ had outstripped the _Prophet_ for the first time in history. Rita's awards had dried up. I should have realised when I visited her office earlier this week. She had loads of awards from before Voldemort fell but none since Hermione, Ron and I refused to speak to her after the war. None until recently that is. I believe the article you wrote about the verdict in Ron's inquiry was the one that broke the barren spell, eh, Rita? "Potter Guilty of Negligence?" You must have enjoyed that?'

Rita looked furious for a moment, the first emotion he had seen from her. 'I have nothing to say to you,' she replied.

'That's fine by me, Rita, but I suspect you will have to answer to others soon enough.' He paused for a few seconds. 'You couldn't handle it, could you? No longer the top dog; no longer important. No longer _feared_. All the good stories had dried up after Voldemort was killed, hadn't they? I was the only show in town and I wouldn't have anything to do with you. So you decided that reporting the news wasn't enough. You decided to create your own exclusives – make your own news. You arranged to have the Deatheaters broken out – you knew that was a winner. People panicking and desperate for news. Right up your street. Then Ron Weasley got wind of it and you decided to remove him. Of course; this was a big story too and there was even the chance of getting me as well. But when I was only injured it occurred to you that I was worth more to you alive. I'm the "Boy-Who-Lived". People will read about me taking a piss if they could. So you spared me and decided that destroying me would be more fun. Even when I left you got mileage out of wondering where I was.'

'Speculation,' Rita replied. 'Idle speculation.'

'Not at all. I _know_ you, Rita. It was you Fudge went to when he realised Cho had learned too much. It was you who suggested using her murder to frame Draco. The trial of the century was all set up and ready to go. Then I re-entered the stage and sales of the _Prophet_ went through the roof. You must have pissed yourself with excitement when I returned. You couldn't have foreseen that.'

'Don't flatter yourself,' replied Rita. 'You're not that important.'

Harry smiled at the remark. 'Then why go to all the trouble of following me around?' His tone hardened. 'Why go to the rouble of trying to assassinate Hermione? That would have made for great headlines, wouldn't it?' he asked angrily. He paused for a second to collect himself. 'You _knew_ that Kingsley would be in trouble whatever he decided to do about the Dementor's Kiss when Draco was found guilty. It was a perfect opportunity – you couldn't miss. Kingsley would fall and you would campaign to get Fudge back in. The two of you had an understanding in the past, didn't you? Fudge would let you write what ever you wanted and would feed you stories. He'd even let you attack other species in print – just like you did to Hagrid all those years ago. You didn't want the equality bill to succeed, did you? I remember from your article that you hate the "half breeds".'

'Prove it,' Rita hissed.

'I have all the proof I need at Gringotts,' replied Harry. 'The Goblins have promised me full co-operation. The money trail leads right back to you, Rita.' This was in fact a bluff – he hadn't had time to check this out but he suspected that it was a shrewd thrust. His suspicions were confirmed when Rita deflated before his eyes.

'I made the mistake of looking for the person responsible,' Harry continued softly. 'It never occurred to me straight away that there might be more than one. Tom Proudfoot; Cuthbert Mockridge; Matthias Swing; Cornelius Fudge and you Rita. You all stood to gain in your own little way. I suppose I should congratulate you, ' he added.

'Congratulate me?' asked Rita, surprised.

'Yes; you have got what you wanted. You've just created the biggest media sensation since Voldemort died. Not quite what you hoped for, I'm sure, but a success nonetheless.' He turned away from her and looked directly at Kingsley. 'It's up to you boss. That's what we discovered. Is it enough?'

Kingsley didn't respond immediately. He held Harry's gaze for a few moments before turning and looking at each of the conspirators in turn. 'It's more than enough,' he finally replied, his voice like doom. 'Take them away,' he ordered to Blaise and Mark. 'Get them out of my sight; I will deal with them later.'

Harry let out a sigh of relief and turned as he saw Hermione rush towards him. He smiled and was nearly knocked of his feet as she leapt into his arms. They stood for a long moment in a tight embrace, oblivious of the watching eyes.

'You did it!' she exclaimed into his ear.

'No; we did it,' he replied. 'I could never have done this on my own.'

She smiled at his reply and held his gaze for a few seconds before lowering her head and kissing him deeply – an overture that he responded to in kind. When they finally pulled apart he eyed her lovingly and felt a sudden relief as he realised that it was all over. He had avenged Ron; had cleared Draco and had saved Kingsley. But she had done so much more. She had saved him and for the first time he could remember, he looked to the future with optimism.

He was supposed to be the Soul Thief but it was Hermione who had reclaimed his soul.

**Two weeks later.**

'…and we couldn't have done it without Hermione. She's worked round the clock to help steer the Bill through and she's the one who deserves all the credit…'

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand as he listened to Kingsley. They were celebrating the successful passing of the Equality Act and the mood in the room was one of laughter and joy. They were in Kingsley's house after he had insisted they attend the celebration and as he glanced around the table he felt a sense of contentment and peace.

It was an intimate gathering. Apart from himself and Hermione, only Arthur Weasley, and Susan Bones were in attendance.

And Ragnok.

It was a sign of better things to come that the Minister would invite the head of the Goblin's to such a social gathering but as Kingsley had explained he couldn't pass legislation and then ignore it completely himself. That would be hypocritical. Besides, he had added, he liked Ragnok.

Harry allowed his mind to wander over recent events as the conversation washed over him. The immediate aftermath of the Wizengamot session had been profound and even now the repercussions could be felt in the Magical world. Those responsible had been quickly removed from the room and imprisoned deep within the Ministry and Kingsley had acted swiftly to have trials arranged for them all. He wanted the proceedings to be as public as possible and was doing everything by the book although the outcome was viewed as a mere formality. Rita Skeeter's self incrimination should be enough to condemn them all.

Kingsley had also made sure the judge was above reproach and hadn't been bought – he didn't want another Swing on his hands.

Narcissa Malfoy had almost smothered first him and then Hermione with her embrace once it became evident that Draco had no involvement. All charges against him had been dropped immediately and he smiled when he recalled the reaction of the Malfoys. Lucius had remained aloof although his relief could be detected. Draco had muttered his awkward thanks and had offered his hand, which he had taken. They would never be friends but they had reached an understanding – they wouldn't be enemies either.

Narcissa, however, had been gushing in her thanks and it was amusing to see the normally icy façade dissolve into relief and joy. She had actually cried and had promised him anything he wanted as payment for his services. He didn't need the money so after getting an assurance that Dung would be covered in gold he'd made a small request of his own.

'_Just vote in favour of the Bill; that's all I ask. And make sure your husband does too; and anyone else you think you can influence.'_

_Narcissa had cast a glance at Hermione and smiled knowingly._

'_It will be done, Harry. And thank you. Thank you both, she'd added with a smile for Hermione._

It had been worth it just to see Hermione's face when Narcissa had made her pledge.

The Malfoy votes probably didn't count for much in the end as the Bill had passed with an overwhelming majority. It seemed that the members of the Wizengamot did not take too kindly to the attempt by Rita and Fudge to manipulate them and undermine Kingsley and had voted "yes" in large numbers. Hermione had been ecstatic but it seemed that this success was not enough. It amused him to note that even after such a success she was now working with Kingsley on proposals for political reform.

But that was not all she had being doing. They had been spending the past two weeks exploring their new relationship and he knew with certainty that she was all he would ever need in his life. He still had no idea what he wanted to do with himself; all he did know was that he would live wherever Hermione decided to go. She was perfect for him and he couldn't imagine life without her and as he looked on her now he wondered what the future held. A future with Hermione promised laughter and joy; arguments and reconciliations – not to mention plenty of mind-blowing sex, he thought with a smile. But above all, it promised love and contentment and somewhere in the world that he could finally call home. He had been searching for that harbour all his life and he knew that he had finally achieved it.

He glanced round as Kingsley loudly cleared his throat.

'As host of this little gathering, I should of course propose a toast,' he said as he began to stand with glass in hand. Everyone made to follow but as Harry stood Kingsley waved him back into his chair.

'For all of the excellent work done by Hermione, our project was nearly derailed by the actions of others. Were it not for Harry we might have lost everything. So, ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your glasses to the Soul Thief.'

'The Soul Thief,' chorused the others before clinking glasses and taking a drink.

Harry locked eyes with Hermione as she toasted him and took a sip of wine before bestowing a breathtaking smile on him. He knew that he couldn't have done anything without her; that he had been on a road to self-destruction until she pulled him back. That she had redeemed him – had reclaimed his soul. He lifted his own glass and raised it to her, aware that all eyes in the room were on him but knowing she would understand that his words were for her alone.

'To my Soul Thief.'


End file.
